EDEN 


EDGAR  SALTUS 


B    3    327    33D 


JU^: 


EDEN 


EDEN 


AN   EPISODE 

BY 

EDGAR   SALTUS 


"Perduto  t  tuttg  il  tempo  che  in  amar  non  si  spende" 

— TASSO. 


CHICAGO,  NEW   YORK,  AND   SAN    FRANCISCO 

BELFORD,  CLARKE  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1888,  BY 
EDGAR    SALTUS 


TO 
E H 

AMICISSIMA 


New  York,  \<-,th  May,  1888. 


M5OOH5 


EDEN 


I. 

IT  WAS  not  until  Miss  Menemon's  engage 
ment  to  John  Usselex  was  made  public  that 
the  world  in  which  that  young  lady  moved 
manifested  any  interest  in  her  future  hus 
band.  Then,  abruptly,  a  variety  of  rumors 
were  circulated  concerning  him.  It  was 
said,  for  instance,  that  his  real  name  was 
Tchurchenthaler  and  that  his  boyhood  had 
been  passed  tending  geese  in  a  remote 
Bavarian  dorf,  from  which,  to  avoid  mili 
tary  service,  he  had  subsequently  fled. 
Again,  it  was  affirmed  that  in  Denmark  he 
was  known  as  Baron  Varvedsen,  and  that 
he  had  come  to  this  country  not  to  avoid 
military  service,  but  the  death  penalty, 


4  Eden. 

which  whoso  strikes  a  prince  of  the  blood 
incurs.  Others  had  heard  that  he  was 
neither  Bavarian  nor  Dane,  but  the  out 
lawed  nephew  of  a  Flemish  money-lender 
whose  case  he  had  rifled  and  whose 
daughter  he  had  debauched.  And  there  were 
other  people  who  held  that  he  had  found 
Vienna  uninhabitable  owing  to  the  number 
of  persistent  creditors  which  that  delightful 
city  contained. 

In  this  conflict  of  gossip  the  real  facts 
were  as  difficult  of  discovery  as  the  truth 
about  Kaspar  Hauser,  and  in  view  of  the 
divergence  of  rumors  there  were  people 
sensible  enough  to  maintain  that  as  these 
rumors  could  not  all  be  true,  they  might 
all  be  false.  Among  the  latter  was  Usselex 
himself.  His  own  account  of  his  ante 
cedents  was  to  the  effect  that  his  father 
was  a  Cornishman,  his  mother  a  Swiss  gov 
erness,  and  that  he  had  been  brought  up 
by  the  latter  in  Bale,  from  which  city  he 
had  at  an  early  age  set  out  to  make  his  for 
tune.  Whether  or  not  this  statement  was 
exact  is  a  matter  of  minor  moment.  In 


Eden.  5 

any  event,  supposing  for  argument's  sake 
that  he  had  more  names  than  are  neces 
sary,  has  not  Vishnu  a  thousand?  And  as 
for  debts,  did  not  Caesar  owe  a  hundred 
million  sesterces?  But  however  true  or  un 
true  his  own  account  of  himself  may  have 
been,  certain  it  was  that  he  spoke  three  lan- 
o-uao-es  with  the  same  accent,  and  that  a  de- 

t>         & 

cennary  or  so  after  landing  at  Castle  Garden 
his  name  was  familiar  to  everyone  connected 
with  banks  and  banking. 

At  the  time  contemporaneous  to  the  epi 
sodes  with  which  these  pages  have  to  deal 
John  Usselex  had  reached  that  age  in  which 
men  begin  to  take  an  interest  in  hair  re 
storers.  In  his  face  was  the  pallor  of  a  plaster- 
cast,  his  features  were  correct  and  coercive, 
in  person  he  was  about  the  average  height, 
slim  and  well-preserved.  He  carried  glasses 
rimmed  with  tortoise-shell.  He  wore  a  beard 
cut  fan-shape  and  a  moustache  with  drooping 
ends.  Both  were  gray.  In  moments  of  dis 
pleasure  he  smiled,  but  behind  the  glasses 
no  merriment  was  discernible;  when  they  were 
removed  his  eyes  glowed  luminous  and 


6  Eden. 

shrewd,  and  in  them  was  a  glitter  that  sug 
gested  a  reflection  caught  from  the  hand 
ling  and  glare  of  gold.  In  the  financial  ac 
ceptation  of  the  term  he  was  good;  he  was 
at  the  head  of  a  house  that  possessed  the 
confidence  of  the  Street,  his  foreign  corres 
pondents  were  of  the  best,  but  in  the  inner 
circles  of  New  York  life  he  was  as  unknown 
as  Ischwanbrat. 

Miss  Menemon,  on  the  other  hand,  had  no 
foreign  correspondents,  but  in  the  circles 
alluded  to  she  was  thoroughly  at  home.  Her 
father,  Mr.  Petrus  Menemon,  was  not  ac 
counted  rich,  but  he  came  of  excellent  stock, 
and  her  mother,  long  since  deceased,  had 
been  an  Imryck.  Now,  to  be  an  Imryck,  to 
say  nothing  of  being  a  Menemon,  is  to  be 
Somebody.  Miss  Menemon,  moreover,  was 
not  quite  twenty-two  years  of  age.  To  nine 
people  out  of  ten  she  represented  little  else 
than  the  result  of  the  union  of  an  Imryck  and 
a  Menemon;  but  to  the  tenth,  particularly  when 
the  tenth  happened  to  be  a  man,  she  was  as 
attractive  a  girl  as  New  York  could  produce. 
As  a  child  she  had  not  been  noticeably  pretty, 


Eden.  J 

but  when,  as  the  phrase  is,  she  came  out, 
she  was  assuredly  fair  to  see.  She  was  slight 
and  dark  of  hair,  her  face  was  like  the  cameo 
of  a  Neapolitan  boy,  but  her  eyes  were  not 
black,  they  were  of  that  sultry  blue  which 
is  observable  in  the  ascension  of  tobacco- 
smoke  through  a  sunbeam;  and  about  her 
mouth  and  in  the  carriage  of  her  head  was 
something  that  reminded  you  of  the  alert 
ness  and  expectancy  of  a  bird.  She  was 
not  innocent,  if  innocence  be  taken  in  the 
sense  of  ignorance,  but  she  was  clean  of  mind, 
of  eye,  and  .of  tongue.  She  had  been  better 
instructed  than  the  majority  of  society  girls, 
or,  if  not  better  instructed,  at  least  she  had 
read  more,  and  this  perhaps,  because  on 
emerging  from  the  nursery  her  father's  first 
care  had  been  to  make  her  unafraid  of  books. 
Petrus  Menemon  himself  was  a  tall,  spare 
man,  scrupulous  as  to  his  dress,  and  quiet  of 
manner.  In  his  face  was  the  expression  of 
one  who  is  not  altogether  satisfied,  and  yet 
wishes  everyone  else  to  be  content.  He  had 
an  acquired  ignorance  which  he  called  ag 
nosticism.  He  enjoyed  the  formidable  repu- 


8  Eden. 

tation  of  being  well-read;  but  it  is  only  just 
to  explain  that  he  was  well  read  chiefly  in  the 
archaic  sense — in  the  bores  and  pedants  of 
antiquity.      Yet,   if   his  taste  was    stilted,  he 
made  no  effort  to  inculcate  that  taste  in  his 
daughter;    he  gave  her  the  run  of  the  library 
and  allowed  her  to  drag  from  the  Valhalla  of 
the  back  bookshelves  what  friends  and  relatives 
she  chose.     Indeed,  his  attitude  to  her   was 
one  of   habitual  indulgence.     By  nature  she 
was  as  capricious  as   a   day  in  February,  a 
compound    of    sunlight,    of    promise,  and  of 
snow;    and    when    she   was  wilful — and    she 
was  often  that — he  made  no  effort  to  coerce, 
he  argued  with  her  as  one  might  with  a  grown 
person,  seriously,  and   without   anger.     And 
something  of  that  seriousness  she  caught  from 
him,  and  with  it  confidence  in  his  wisdom  and 
trust  in  his  love.     To  her  thinking  no  one  in 
all  the  world   was   superior    to   that  gentle- 
mannered  man. 

When  she  left  the  nursery  she  was  supplied 
with  a  governess,  and  as  she  grew  older, 
with  masters  of  different  arts  and  tongues. 
But  as  a  child  she  was  often  lonely,  and  the 


Eden.  9 

children  whom  she  saw  playing  in  the  streets 
were  to  her  objects  of  indignant  envy.  On 
Sunday  it  was  her  father's  custom  to  take  her 
to  morning  service,  and  afterward  to  her 
grandmother,  a  lady  who  lived  alone  in  a  giant 
house  in  South  Washington  Square,  in  the 
upper  rooms  of  which  the  child  was  per 
suaded  that  coffins  lay  stored  in  heaps. 
During  these  visits,  which  were  con 
tinued  every  Sunday  until  the  old  lady 
died,  an  invariable  programme  was  ob 
served:  the  child  repeated  the  catechism, 
recited  a  verse  from  the  hymnal,  .after 
which  she  was  gratified  with  sponge-cake 
and  a  glass  of  milk,  and  then  was  permitted 
to  look  at  the  pictures  in  a  large  Bible,  in 
which,  by  way  of  frontispiece,  was  an  en 
graving  of  a  man  with  a  white  beard, 
whom  her  grandmother  said  was  God. 
Such,  with  the  exception  of  tiresome  prom 
enades  on  Second  Avenue,  where  her  father's 
house  was  situated,  such  were  her  relaxations. 
And  so  it  came  about  that  in  the  en 
forced  loneliness  of  her  childhood  she  ran 
sacked  a  library  in  which  the  "  Picara  Justina  " 


io  Eden. 

of  Fray  Andrs  Perez  stood  side-by-side 
with  the  Kalevala,  a  library  in  which  works 
stupid  as  the  Koran  and  dead  as  Coptic 
touched  covers  with  the  "  Idyls  of  the  King  " 
and  the  fabliaux  of  mediaeval  France. 
Soon  she  had  made  friends  with  the  heroes 
and  heroines  that  are  the  caryatides  of  the 
book-shelves.  In  their  triumphs  she  ex 
ulted;  by  their  failures  she  was  depressed. 
At  the  age  of  thirteen  she  spoke  of  King 
Arthur  as  though  he  were  her  first  cousin. 
The  next  year  she  was  in  love  with  Amadis 
of  Gaul. 

A  little  later  she  hung  on  the  wall  of  her 
bedroom  a  bit  of  embroidery  of  her  own 
manufacture,  a  square  piece  of  watered 
silk,  on  which  in  bold  relief  stood  the  char 
acters  60  H,  a  device  understood  by  no  one 
but  herself,  one  which  her  imagination  had 
evolved  out  of  the  aridity  of  a  French  copy 
book,  and  which  each  night  and  each  morn 
ing  said  to  her,  Sois  sans  tache. 

Indeed,  her  brain  had  been  the  haunt  of 
many  an  odd  conceit,  the  home  of  fays  and 
goblins.  Her  imagination  was  always  a 


Eden.  n 

garden  to  her  except  when  it  happened  to 
be  a  morass.  She  had  not  only  castles  in 
Spain,  she  had  dungeons  as  well;  and  of 
them  she  was  architect,  mason,  and  inhabi 
tant  too.  It  was  her  mood — a  circumstance 
aiding — that  dowered  her  fancy  with  wings. 
Now  she  would  be  transported  to  new  hori 
zons  where  multicolored  suns  battened  on  in 
tervales  of  unsuspected  charm,  now  she  would 
be  tossed  into  the  opacity  of  an  abyss  where 
there  would  not  be  so  much  as  a  goaf  for  rest 
ing-place.  Now  Pleasure  would  lord  the  day, 
now  the  sceptre  would  be  held  by  Pain.  As 
often  as  not  the  intonation  of  a  voice,  the  ex 
pression  of  a  face,  any  incident  however  trivial 
would  suffice,  and  at  once  a  panorama  would 
unroll,  with  no  one  but  herself  for  spectator. 
As  she  grew  older  her  mind  became  more  staid, 
its  changes  and -convolutions  less  frequent. 
The  goblins  were  replaced  by  glyptodons, 
Perrault  by  Darwin.  But  the  prismatic  quality 
of  her  fancy  remained  unimpaired.  She  gar 
mented  everyone  with  its  rays.  Those  who 
were  nearest  to  her  enjoyed  the  gayest  hues; 
in  others  she  looked  steadfastly  for  the  best. 


12  Eden. 

And  yet,  in  spite  of  this,  or  precisely  on  that 
account,  no  one  was  ever  better  able  to  dis 
tort  trifles  into  nuclei  of  doubt.  In  brief,  she 
was  March  one  minute  and  May  the  next. 
Apropos  of  some  misunderstanding,  her  father 
said  to  her  jestingly  one  day,  "Eden,  did  you 
ever  hear  of  such  a  thing  as  hemiopia?" 
The  girl  shook  her  head.  "Well,"  he  con 
tinued,  "there  is  a  disease  of  that  name 
which  affects  the  eye  in  such  a  manner  that 
only  half  the  object  looked  at  is  seen.  Don't 
you  think  you  had  better  consult  an  oculist?" 
Meanwhile  her  education  had  been  com 
pleted  by  Shakspere.  Love  she  had  learned 
of  Juliet,  jealousy  of  Othello.  But  of  despair 
Hamlet  had  been  incompetent  to  teach.  She 
was  instinct  with  generous  indignations,  en 
thusiastic  of  great  deeds,  and  through  the 
quality  of  her  temperament 'unable  to  reason 
herself  into  an  understanding  of  the  base. 
When  she  "came  out"  she  found  herself  un 
able  to  share  the  excited  interest  which  girls 
of  her  age  exhibited  in  Delmonico  balls. 
At  the  dinners  and  dances  to  which  she  was 
bidden,  she  was  chilled  at  the  discovery  that 


Eden.  ij 

platitude  reigned.  As  a  rule,  the  younger  men 
fought  shy  of  her.  She  acquired  the  reputa 
tion  of  making  disquieting  answers  and  re 
marks  of  curious  inappositeness.  But  now 
and  then  she  met  people  that  found  her 
singularly  attractive  and  whose  hearts  went 
out  to  her  at  once,  yet  these  were  always 
people  with  whom  she  fancied  herself  in 
sympathetic  rapport. 

Among  this  class  was  a  man  who  suc 
ceeded  Amadis.  His  name  was  Dugald 
Maule;  he  was  six  or  seven  years  her  senior, 
and  by  profession  an  attorney  and  counsellor- 
at-law.  It  should  be  noted,  however,  that 
he  did  not  look  like  one.  He  looked  like 
an  athlete  that  had  taken  honors,  a  man  to  be 
admired  by  women  and  respected  by  men.  In 
private  theatricals  he  was  much  applauded. 
He  had  studied  law  in  the  hope  of  being4 
judge,  and  in  being  judge  of  pronouncing 
the  death  sentence.  He  could  imagine  no 
superber  role  than  that.  To  him,  after  months 
of  self-examination,  Eden  Menemon  sur 
rendered  her  heart.  The  surrender  was  indeed 
difficult,  but  as  surrenders  go  it  was  complete, 


14.  Eden. 

The  threads  by  which  he  succeeded  in 
attaching  her  to  him  it  is  unnecessary  to 
describe.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  little  by 
little  she  grew  to  believe  that  in  him  the 
impeccable  resided.  She  had  accustomed 
herself  to  consider  love  in  the  light  of  a 
plant  which  if  rightly  tended  would  bloom 
into  a  witherless  rose.  She  had  told  him 
this,  and  together  they  had  watched  the 
bud  expand,  and  when  at  last  it  was  ful 
filled  to  the  tips  he  saw  it  in  her  eyes. 
That  evening,  when  he  had  gone,  the  sense 
of  happiness  was  so  acute  that  she  became 
quasi-hysterical.  The  joy  of  love,  slowly 
intercepted  and  then  wholly  revealed, 
vibrated  through  the  chords  of  her  being, 
overwhelming  her  with  the  force  of  an  un 
experienced  emotion,  and  throwing  her  for 
relief  into  a  paroxysm  of  tears.  Then  fol 
lowed  a  day  of  wonder,  in  which  hallucina 
tions  of  delight  alternated  with  tremors  of 
self-depreciation.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
she  was  unworthy  of  such  an  one  as  he. 
For,  to  her,  in  her  inexperience,  he  was  per 
fection  indeed,  one  unsuitable  and  mailed 


Eden.  15 

in  right.  And  then,  abruptly,  as  such 
things  occur,  without  so  much  as  a  moni 
tion,  she  read  in  public  print  that  he  had 
been  summoned  as  a  co-respondent.  To 
overwrought  nerves  as  were  hers,  the  an 
nouncement  was  rapider  in  its  effect  than  a 
microbe.  A  fever  came  that  was  obliter 
ating  as  the  morrow  of  steps  on  the  sand. 
For  a  week  she  was  delirious,  and  when  at 
last  she  left  her  room  the  expression  of  her 
face  had  altered.  She  felt  no  anger,  only 
an  immense  distrust  of  the  validity  of  her 
intuitions.  Had  Dugald  Maule  been  in 
trouble,  she  would  have,  if  need  were,  for 
saken  life  for  his  sake;  but  the  Dugald 
Maule  for  whom  she  would  have  been 
brave  had  existed  only  in  her  own  imagin 
ation.  It  was  this  that  brought  the  fever, 
and  when  the  fever  went,  disgust  came  in 
its  place.  It  was  then  that  the  expression  of 
face  altered.  She  looked  like  one  who  is  done 
with  love.  Presently,  and  while  she  was 
still  convalescent,  her  father  sent  her  abroad 
with  friends,  and  when  she  returned,  Dugald 
Maule  had  to  her  the  reality  of  a  bad  dream,  a 


1 6  Eden. 

nightmare  that  she  might  have  experienced  in 
the  broad  light  of  an  earlier  day. 

In  the  course  of  that  winter  it  so  happened 
that  her  father  one  evening  brought  in  to 
dinner  a  man  whom  he  introduced  as  Mr. 
Usselex.  Eden  had  never  seen  him  before 
and  for  the  moment  she  did  not  experience 
any  notable  desire  to  see  him  again.  She 
attended,  however,  with  becoming  grace  to 
the  duties  of  hostess,  and  as  the  conversation 
between  her  father  and  his  guest  circled  in 
and  over  stocks,  she  was  not  called  upon  to 
contribute  to  the  entertainment.  When  coffee 
was  served  she  went  to  her  own  room  and 
promptly  forgot  that  Mr.  Usselex  existed. 

But  in  a  few  days  there  was  Crispin  again. 
On  this  occasion  Eden  gave  him  a  larger 
share  of  attention  than  she  had  previously 
accorded.  There  were  certain  things  that  she 
noticed,  there  was  an  atmosphere  about  him 
which  differed  from  that  which  other  men  ex 
haled.  In  the  tones  of  his  voice  were  evoca 
tions  of  fancies.  He  seemed  like  one  who 
had  battled  and  had  won.  There  was  an  un- 
usualness  in  him  which  impressed  and  irri- 


Eden-.  17 

tated  her  simultaneously.  It  was  annoying  to 
her  that  he  should  intrude,  however  tran 
siently,  into  the  precincts  of  her  thought. 
And  when  he  had  gone  she  took  her  father  to 
task:  "What  do  you  have  that  man  to  dinner 
for  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Who  is  he  ?  " 

Mr.  Menemon,  who  was  looking  out  of  the 
window,  announced  that  it  was  snowing,  then 
he  turned  to  her.  "Eden,"  he  said,  "I  am 
sorry.  If  you  object  he  need  not  come  again. 
Really,"  he  continued,  after  a  moment,  "  I 
wish  you  could  see  your  way  to  being  civil  to 
him." 

"  Surely  I  am  that,"  she  answered. 

To  this  Mr.  Menemon  assented.  "The 
matter  is  this,"  he  said.  "While  you  were 
abroad  I  became  interested  in  a  mine;  he  is 
trying  to  get  me  out  of  it.  He  is  something 
of  a  prophet,  I  take  it.  Though,  as  yet,"  he 
added  despondently,  "his  prophecies  have  not 
been  realized." 

"Then  he  is  a  philosopher,"  said  Eden, 
with  a  smile;  and  her  father,  smiling  too, 
turned  again  to  interview  the  night. 

Thereafter    Mr.    Usselex    was   a  frequent 


i8  Eden. 

guest,  and  presently  Eden  discovered  that 
her  annoyance  had  disappeared. 

The  people  whom  we  admire  at  first  sight  are 
rarely  capable  of  prolonging  that  admiration, 
and  when  circumstances  bring  us  into  contact 
with  those  that  have  seemed  antipathetic,  it  not 
infrequently  happens  that  the  antipathy  is  lost. 
It  was  much  this  way  with  Eden.  Little  by 
little,  through  channels  unperceived,  the  early 
distaste  departed.  Hitherto  the  world  had 
held  for  her  but  one  class  of  individuals,  the 
people  whom  she  liked.  All  others  belonged 
to  the  landscape.  But  this  guest  of  her 
father's  suggested  a  new  category;  he  aroused 
her  curiosity?  He  left  the  landscape;  he  be 
came  a  blur  on  it,  but  a  blur  on  which  she 
strained  her  eyes.  The  antipathy  departed, 
and  she  discovered  herself  taking  pleasure  in 
the  speech  of  one  who  had  originally  affected 
her  as  a  scarabaeus  must  affect  the  rose. 

She  discerned  in  him  unsuspected  dimen 
sions.  He  was  at  home  in  recondite  matters, 
and  yet  capable  of  shedding  new  light  on 
threadbare  themes.  During  discussions  be 
tween  him  and  her  father  at  which  she  assisted 


Eden.  19 

she  gained  an  insight  into  bi-metallism,  free 
trade  even,  and  subjects  of  like  import,  the 
which  hitherto  she  had  regarded  as  abstract 
diseases  created  for  the  affliction  of  politicians 
and  editorial  hacks.  He  was  at  home  too  in 
larger  issues,  in  the  cunning  of  Ottoman  tac 
tics  and  the  beat  of  drums  at  Kandahar. 
Concerning  King  Arthur  he  was  vague,  but  he 
had  the  power  to  startle  her  with  new  per 
spectives,  the  possibilities  of  dynamics,  the 
abolition  of  time,  the  sequestration  and  con 
quest  of  space.  And  as  he  spoke  easily,  fluent 
ly,  in  the  ungesticulatory  fashion  of  those  that 
know  whereof  they  speak,  more  than  once  she 
fell  to  wondering  as  to  the  cause  of  that 
early  dislike.  In  such  wise  was  Desdemonawon. 

It  so  happened  that  one  evening  she 
chanced  to  dine  with  a  friend  of  hers,  Mrs. 
Nicholas  Manhattan  by  name,  a  lady  whose 
sources  of  social  information  were  large. 
Among  other  guests  was  Alphabet  Jones,  the 
novelist. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Mr.Usselex  ?  "  Eden 
asked,  over  the  sweets. 

Mrs.  Manhattan  visibly  drew  on  the  invisi- 


20  Eden. 

ble  cap  of  thought.  "  Never  heard  of  him," 
she  presently  exclaimed,  as  one  who  should 
say,  "and  for  me  not  to  have  heard  argues 
him  unknown." 

But  Jones  was  there,  and  he  slipped  his 
oar  in  at  once.  "  I  know  him,"  he  answered. 
"  He  is  the  son  of  a  shoemaker.  No  end  of 
money!  Some  years  ago  a  cashier  of  his  did 
the  embezzlement  act,  but  Usselex  declined  to 
prosecute." 

"Yes,  that  is  like  him,"  said  Eden. 

"Ah!  you  know  him,  then?"  and  Jones 
looked  at  her.  "Well,"  he  continued,  "the 
cashier  was  sent  up  all  the  same.  He  had  a 
wife,  it  appeared,  and  children.  Usselex 
gave  them  enough  to  live  on,  and  more  too, 
I  believe." 

"  He  must  have  done  it  very  simply." 

"Why,  you  must  know  him  well!"  Jones 
exclaimed;  and  the  conversation  changed. 

Meanwhile  winter  dragged  itself  along,  and 
abruptly,  as  is  usual  with  our  winters,  disap 
peared.  In  its  stead  came  a  spring  that  was 
languider  than  summer.  Fifth  Avenue  was 
bright  with  smart  bonnets  and  gowns  of  con- 


Eden.  21 

servatory  hues.  During  the  winter  months 
Mr.  Menemon's  face  had  been  distressed  as 
the  pavements,  but  now  it  was  entirely  serene. 

It  was  evident  to  Eden  that  Mr.  Usselex 
was  not  a  philosopher  alone,  but  a  prophet  as 
well.  Concerning  him  her  store  of  informa 
tion  had  increased. 

Toward  the  end  of  May  her  father  spoke  to 
her  about  him  and  about  his  success  with  the 
mine.  He  seemed  pleased,  yet  nervous.  "  I 
saw  him  this  afternoon,"  he  said;  "  he  is  to  be 
here  shortly.  H'm!  I  am  obliged  to  goto  the 
club  for  a  moment.  Will  you — would  you 
mind  seeing  him  in  my  absence? "  For  a  mo 
ment  he  moved  uneasily  about  and  then  left 
the  room.  Eden  looked  after  him  in  wonder, 
and  took  up  the  Post.  And  as  her  eyes 
loitered  over  the  columns  the  bell  rang;  her 
face  flushed,  and  presently  she  was  aware  of 
Usselex'  presence. 

"  What  is  this  my  father  tells  me  ? "  she 
asked,  by  way  of  greeting. 

"What  is  it?"  he  echoed;  he  had  found  a 
chair  and  sat  like  Thor  in  the  court  of 
Utgarda. 


22  Eden. 

"  About  the  mine  and  all  that." 

The  man  eyed  her  enquiringly  for  an  in 
stant  and  picked  at  his  cuff.  "  Let  me  ask 
you  a  question,"  he  said:  "Did  your  father 
say  nothing  except  about  the  mine  ?" 

"  No,  not  that  I  remember,  except  to  imply 
that  you — that  he — no,  he  said  nothing  worth 
repeating." 

"  In  finding  you  alone  I  supposed  he  had 
told  you  that — " 

"That  the  mine—" 

"That  I  love  you." 

In  the  corner  of  the  room  was  a  great  col 
onial  clock.  Through  the  silence  that  fol 
lowed  it  ticked  sleepily,  as  though  yawning  at 
the  avowal.  Mr.  Usselex  had  bent  forward; 
he  watched  the  girl.  She  was  occupied  in 
tearing  little  slips  from  the  paper  which  lay  in 
her  lap.  She  did  not  seem  to  have  heard  him 
at  all. 

"  Miss  Menemon,"  he  continued,  "  I  express 
myself  badly.  Do  not  even  take  the  trouble 
to  say  that  you  do  not  care  for  me.  It  is  im 
possible  that  you  should.  You  know  nothing 
of  me;  you — " 


Eden.  23 

"  Oh,  but  I  do  though,"  the  girl  exclaimed. 
"  The  other  day,  a  month  or  two  ago,  I  have 
forgotten,  someone  said  your  father  was  a 
shoemaker,  and  what  not  about  you  beside. 
Oh,  I  know  a  great  deal — " 

"  Then,  Miss  Menemon,  you  must  know  the 
penalty  which  is  paid  for  success."  He 
straightened  himself,  the  awkwardness  had 
left  him,  and  he  seemed  taller  than  when  he 
entered  the  room.  "Yes,"  he  continued,  "the 
door  to  success  is  very  low,  and  the  greater  is 
he  that  bends  the  most.  Let  a  man  succeed 
in  any  one  thing,  and  whatever  may  be  the 
factors  with  which  that  success  is  achieved, 
Envy  will  call  a  host  of  enemies  into  being  as 
swiftly  as  Cadmus  summoned  his  soldiery. 
And  these  enemies  will  come  not  alone  from 
the  outer  world,  but  from  the  ranks  of  his 
nearest  friends.  Ruin  a  man's  home,  he  may 
forget  it.  But  excel  him,  do  him  a  favor, 
show  yourself  in  any  light  his  superior,  then 
indeed  is  the  affront  great.  Mediocrity  is  un 
forgiving.  We  pretend  to  admire  greatness, 
but  we  isolate  it  and  call  that  isolation  Fame. 
It  is  above  us;  we  cannot  touch  it;  but  mud 


24-  Eden. 

is  plentiful  and  that  we  can  throw.  And  if  no 
mud  be  at  hand,  we  can  loose  that  active 
abstraction,  malice,  which  subsists  on  men  and 
things.  No;  had  I  an  enemy  I  could  wish 
him  no  greater  penance  than  success — success 
prompt,  vertiginous,  immense  !  To  the  world, 
as  I  have  found  it,  success  is  a  crime,  and  its 
atonement,  not  death,  but  torture.  Truly, 
Miss  Menemon,  humanity  is  not  admirable. 
Men  mean  well  enough,  no  doubt;  but  nature 
is  against  them.  Libel  is  the  tribute  that 
failure  pays  to  success.  If  I  am  slandered,  it 
is  because  I  have  succeeded.  But  what  is 
said  of  my  father  is  wholly  true.  He  did 
make  shoes,  God  bless  him  !  and  very  good 
shoes  they  were.  Pardon  me  for  not  having 
said  so  before." 

Eden  listened  as  were  she  assisting  at  the 
soliloquy  of  an  engastrimuth.  The  words  he 
uttered  seemed  to  come  less  from  him  than 
from  one  unknown  yet  not  undevined.  And 
now,  as  he  paused  for  encouragement  or  re 
buke,  he  saw  that  her  eyes  were  in  his. 

"Miss  Menemon,"  he  continued,  "forget 
my  outer  envelope;  if  you  could  read  in  my 


Eden.  25 

heart,  you  would  find  it  full  of  love  for  you." 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  and  smiled  as  at  a 
vista  visible  only  to  herself.  "I  will  tell  my 
father  what  you  say,"  she  added  demurely. 

With  that  answer  Mr.  Usselex  was  fain  to 
be  content.  And  presently,  when  he  had 
gone,  she  wondered  how  it  was  that  she  had 
ever  cared  for  Dugald  Maule. 

A  week  later  the  engagement  of  Miss  Men- 
emon  to  John  Usselex  was  announced.  Much 
comment  was  excited,  and  the  rumors  alluded 
to  were  industriously  circulated.  But  com 
ment  and  rumors  notwithstanding,  the  mar 
riage  took  place,  and  after  it  the  bride  left  her 
father's  dingy  little  house  on  Second  Avenue 
for  a  newer  and  larger  one  on  Fifth.  Many 
people  had  envied  Usselex  his  wealth;  on  that 
day  they  envied  him  his  bride. 

II. 

IT  WAS  late  in  November  before  Eden 
found  herself  in  full  possession  of  her  new 
home.  Shortly  after  the  ceremony  she  had 
gone  to  Newport,  aud  when  summer  departed 
she  made  for  Lennox,  which  she  deserted  for 


26  Eden. 

Tuxedo.  It  was  thereff  re  not  until  the  begin 
ning  of  winter  that  the  brown  hollands  were 
removed  from  her  town  residence. 

During  the  intervening  months  she  had 
been  wholly  content.  She  had  not  led  the  ex 
istence  of  which  at  sixteen  she  had  dreamed 
in  the  recesses  of  her  father's  library,  nor  yet 
such  an  one  as  Dugald  Maule  had  had  the 
ability  to  suggest.  On  the  other  hand,  she 
had  for  her  husband  something  that  was  more 
than  love.  She  regarded  him  as  one  of  the 
coefficients  of  the  age.  Among  the  rumors 
which  her  engagement  created  was  one  to  the 
effect  that  she  was  to  be  used  as  Open  Sesame 
to  doors  hitherto  closed  to  him;  and  this 
rumor,  like  the  others,  some  fair  little  demon 
of  a  friend  had  whispered  in  her  ear.  But  the 
possibility  of  such  a  quid  pro  quo  had  left  her 
undisturbed.  If  a  privilege  paltry  as  that 
were  hers  to  bestow,  there  was  indeed  no 
reason  why  she  should  begrudge  it. 

It  so  happened,  however,  that  she  was  not 
called  upon  to  make  the  slightest  effort  in 
that  direction.  Everybody  discussed  the  mar 
riage,  and  at  the  wedding,  as  is  usually  the 


Eden.  2J 

case,  the  front  seats  were  occupied  by  those 
who  had  said  the  most  in  its  disfavor.  At 
Newport  there  was  a  fleeting  hesitation. 
But  the  exclusion  of  the  bride  from  entertain 
ments  being  practically  impossible,  and  more 
over,  as  it  is  not  considered  seemly  to  invite  a 
wife  and  overlook  a  husband,  both  were  bid 
den;  and  to  the  surprise  of  many  it  was  dis 
covered  that  Usselex  had  not  only  as  fine  an 
air  as  many  of  the  foreign  noblemen  that 
passed  that  way,  but  that  he  even  possessed 
a  keener  appreciation  of  conventionalities. 
Added  to  this  his  wealth  was  reported  to  be 
fabulous.  What  mo-re  could  Newport  ask? 
If  his  origin  was  more  or  less  dubious,  were 
there  not  many  whose  origins  were  worse  than 
dubious,  whose  origins  were  known  ?  Indeed, 
not  everyone  was  qualified  to  throw  a  stone, 
and  gradually  any  thought  of  stone-throwing 
was  dismissed.  His  opponents  became  his 
supporters,  and  after  \hzvilligiatura  at  Lennox 
and  at  Tuxedo  no  further  question  was  raised. 
In  returning  to  town  therefore,  Eden  was 
wholly  content.  She  had  married  a  man  of 
whom  she  was  proud,  a  man  who,  while  sub- 


28  Eden. 

servient  to  her  slightest  wish,  had  taught  her 
what  love  might  be.  Altogether,  the  world 
seemed  larger,  and  she  felt  fully  prepared  to 
do  her  duty  in  that  sphere  of  life  to  which 
God  had  called  her. 

That  sphere  of  life,  she  presently  discov 
ered,  was  to  be  co-tenanted  by  her  husband's 
secretary.  Usselex  had  mentioned  his  exist 
ence  on  more  than  one  incidental  occasion, 
but  after  each  mention  the  actuality  of  that 
existence  had  escaped  her;  and  a  week  or  so 
after  her  return  to  town  she  found  herself 
mediocrally  pleased  at  learning  that  he  would 
probably  be  a  frequent  guest  at  her  dinner- 
table. 

In  answer  to  the  query  which  her  eyebrows 
took  on  at  this  intelligence,  Usselex  explained 
that  now  and  then,  through  stress  of  business, 
he  was  in  Wall  Street  unable  to  provide  the 
individual  in  question  with  his  fullest  instruc 
tions,  and  for  that  reason  it  was  expedient  for 
him  to  have  the  man  of  an  evening  at  the 
house.  Immediately  Eden's  fancy  evoked  the 
confidential  clerk  of  the  London  stage,  a 
withered  bookkeeper,  shiny  pf  garment,  awk- 


Eden.  29 

ward  of  manner,  round  of  shoulder,  square  of 
nail,  explosive  with  figures,  and  covered  with 
warts,  and  on  the  evening  in  which  the  secre 
tary  was  to  make  his  initial  appearance  she 
weaponed  herself  with  a  vinaigrette. 

But  of  the  vinaigrette  she  had  no  need 
whatever.  The  secretary  entered  the  drawing- 
room  with  the  unembarrassed  step  of  a  som 
nambulist.  His  manner  was  that  of  one  aware 
that  the  best  manner  consists  in  the  absence 
of  any  at  all.  His  coat  might  have  come  from 
Piccadilly,  and  when  he  found  a  seat  Eden 
noticed  that  the  soles  of  his  shoes  were  ven 
eered  in  black.  In  brief,  he  looked  well-bred 
and  well-groomed.  He  was  young,  twenty- 
three  or  twenty-four  at  most.  His  head  was 
massive,  and  his  features  were  pagan  in  their 
correctness.  The  jaw  was  a  masterpiece;  it 
gave  the  impression  of  reservoirs  of  interior 
strength,  an  impression  which  was  tempered 
when  he  spoke,  for  his  voice  was  low  and  un- 
sonorous  as  a  muffled  bell.  His  eyes  were  of 
that  green-gray  which  is  caught  in  an  icicle 
held  over  grass.  And  in  them  and  about  his 
mouth  something  there  was  that  suggested 


jo  Eden. 

that  he  could  never  be  brutal  and  seldom 
tender. 

At  table  he  made  no  remark  worthy  of 
record.  He  seemed  better  content  to  watch 
Eden  than  to  speak.  He  ate  little  and  drank 
less,  and  when  the  meal  was  done  and  Eden 
left  him  to  her  husband  and  the  presumable 
cigar,  she  made  up  her  mind  that  he  was 
stupid. 

"He  is  a  German,"  she  reflected;  "with 
such  a  name  as  Adrian  Arnswald  he  must  be. 
H'm.  The  only  German  I  ever  liked  was  a 
Frenchman,  the  author  of  the  Reisebilder. 
Well,  there  seems  to  be  no  bilder  of  any  kind 
in  him."  She  picked  up  the  Post  and 
promptly  lost  herself  in  a  review  of  the  opera. 
"  There,"  she  mused,  "  I  forgot  Wagner.  After 
all,  as  some  one  said  of  the  Scotch,  you  can  do 
a  good  deal  with  a  German  if  you  catch  him 
young.  Mr.  Arnswald  does  not  appear  to 
have  been  caught  in  time."  She  threw  the 
paper  from  her  and  seated  herself  at  the 
piano.  For  a  moment  her  fingers  strayed 
over  the  keys,  and  then,  in  answer  to  some 
evoking  chord,  she  attacked  the  Ernani  in- 


Eden.  ji 

volami,  than  which  few  melodies  are  richer  in 
appeal.  Her  voice  was  not  of  the  bravura 
quality,  the  lower  register  was  not  full,  and  the 
staccati  notes  were  beyond  her  range;  a  pro 
fessor  from  a  conservatory  would  have  disap 
proved  of  her  method  as  he  would  have  dis 
approved  of  that  of  the  ruicenor.  But  then  the 
ruicenor  sings  out  of  sheer  wantonness,  be 
cause  it  cannot  help  it;  and  so  did  she. 

And  as  she  sang,  anyone  who  had  chanced 
that  way  would  have  accounted  her  fair  to  see. 
Her  gown  was  black,  glittered  with  jet,  about 
her  throat  was  a  string  of  pearls,  her  arms 
were  bare,  the  wrists  unbraceleted,  and  in  her 
face  that  beauty  of  youth  and  of  fragility  which 
refinement  heightens  and  which  eclipses  the 
ruddier  characteristics  of  the  buxom  models  of 
the  past.  An  artist  might  not  have  given  her 
a  second  glance,  a  poet  would  have  adored  her 
at  the  first.  And  as  she  still  sang,  Arnswald 
entered  the  room  and  approached  the  piano  at 
which  she  sat. 

She  heard  his  steps  and  turned  at  once  ex 
pectant  of  Usselex,  Then,  seeing  that  he  was 


32  Eden. 

alone,  "  What  have  you  done  with  my  hus 
band?  "  she  asked. 

"Nothing,"  the  young  man  answered. 
"  Nothing  at  all.  A  gentleman,  a  customer,  I 
fancy,  sent  in  his  card,  and  I  left  him  to  him." 
He  found  a  seat  and  eyed  her  gravely.  "  If  I 
disturb  you — ' 

"Oh,  you  don't  disturb  me  in  the  least. 
What  makes  you  look  as  though  you  came 
from  another  planet  ?  " 

"  What  makes  you  look  as  though  you  were 
going  to  one?" 

Mr.  Arnswald  is  passably  impertinent, 
thought  Eden;  but  the  expression  of  his  face 
was  so  reassuringly  devoid  of  any  non-con 
ventional  symptom  that  she  laughed  outright 
at  the  compliment.  "  Do  you  care  for  music  ? " 
she  asked. 

"  Surely,  Mrs.  Usselex." 

"Yes,  of  course.  I  forgot.  All  Germans 
do.  Tell  me,  how  long  have  you  been  in  this 
country  ?  How  do  you  come  to  speak  German 
without  an  accent  ?" 

"  I  was  born  here,  Mrs.  Usselex," 


Eden.  33 

"  You  were  born  here!     I  thought  you  were 
a  German.     Why  didn't  you  tell  me?" 
"  You  did  not  do  me  the  honor  to  ask." 
"But  your  father  was,  wasn't  he? " 
"No,  my  father  was  a  Russian,  I  think." 
"You  think?     Why  do  you  say  you  think? 
Don't  you  know?     I  never  knew  anyone  so 
absurd." 

"  My  father  died  when  I  was  very  young, 
Mrs.  Usselex.     I  do  not  remember  him." 
"But  your  mother  could  have  told  you — " 
"  If  she  didn't,  Mrs.  Usselex,  it  was  because 
she  had  a  good  excuse." 
"  What  was  that?  " 
"She  died  also." 

"  Mr.  Arnswald,  I  am  sorry.  I  had  no  right 
to  ask  such  thoughtless  questions.  My 
mother  died  too.  I  do  not  remember  her 
either.  Truly  you  must  forgive  me."  And- 
as  she  spoke  she  rose  from  the  piano  and  re 
seated  herself  at  the  lounge  which  she  had 
previously  vacated.  "Tell  me  about  your 
self,"  she  added.  "  I  am  not  asking  out  of 
idle  curiosity." 

"  You  are  very  good  to  express  any  interest, 


34-  Eden. 

Mrs.  Usselex.  But  really  there  is  little  to 
tell.  I  used  to  live  in  Massachusetts,  in 
Salem,  with  my  grandparents  and  my  sister. 
You  can  see  Salem  from  here,  and  you  can 
understand  what  a  boy's  life  in  such  a  place 
must  be.  Afterwards  I  was  sent  to  school, 
and  later  I  went  abroad.  When  I  returned 
Mr.  Usselex  took  me  in  his  office.  I  have 
been  there  ever  since.  He  has  been  very 
kind  to  me,  Mr.  Usselex  has." 

"  He  says — how  is  it  he  puts  it  ? — oh,  he 
says  you  have  the  genius  of  finance." 

"  I  can  only  repeat  that  he  is  very  kind." 

To  this  Eden  assented.  "Yes,  he  is  that," 
she  said,  and  hesitated  for  a  moment.  "  Tell 
me,"  she  added.  "You  said  you  were  fond 
of  music.  Will  you  go  with  us  on  Monday  to 
the  opera?" 

This  invitation  was  accepted  with  the  same 
readiness  as  that  with  which  it  was  made. 
And  presently  the  young  man  took  his  leave. 
When  the  portiere  fell  behind  him,  Eden  felt 
a  momentary  uneasiness  at  the  unpremedi 
tated  invitation  which  she  had  just  extended. 
One  doesn't  need  to  be  a  German  to  be 


Eden.  35 

stupid,  she  mused,  and  felt  sure  that  her  hus 
band  would  disapprove.  But  when  she  told 
him  he  expressed  himself  as  well  pleased. 

The  next  day  happened  to  be  Sunday,  and 
on  that  afternoon  Mr.  Arnswald  came  to  pay 
his  dinner-call.  Meanwhile  Eden's  imagina 
tion  had  been  at  work.  Now  imagination  is  a 
force  of  which  the  action  is  as  varied  as  that 
of  volition.  There  are  organizations  which 
it  affects  like  a  dissolvent,  there  are  others 
which  it  affects  like  wine.  In  some  it  needs  a 
spur,  in  others  a  curb.  Give  it  an  incident  for 
incubator,  and  according  to  the  nature  of  the 
individual  it  will  soar  full-feathered  into  space 
or  addle  in  its  own  inaction.  In  Eden  its  ges 
tation  was  always  abrupt.  With  a  fact  for 
matrix  it  developed  as  rapidly  as  a  spark 
mounts  into  flame.  The  fact  in  this  instance 
was  Arnswald. 

When  he  left  her  the  night  before,  she  had 
gone  again  to  the  piano,  her  fingers  had  flut 
tered  like  butterflies  over  the  keys,  then  in 
answer  to  some  strain,  an  aria  from  the  Re- 
gina  di  Golconda  had  visited  her — the  Bel paese, 
del  ridente,  which  she  had  hummed  softly  to 


3  6  Eden. 

herself,  unconscious  of  any  significance  in  the 
words.  But  presently  she  fell  to  wondering 
about  the  fair  land,  the  fairer  sky  which  the 
song  recalled.  Something  there  was  that 
kept  telling  her  that  she  had  met  Adrian  be 
fore.  In  his  voice  she  had  caught  an  inflec 
tion  that  was  not  unfamiliar  to  her.  In  the 
polar-light  of  his  eyes  was  a  suggestion  of 
earlier  acquaintance.  His  infrequent  gestures 
brought  her  the  shadow  of  a  reminiscence. 
And  in  his  face  there  was  an  expression  that 
haunted  her.  For  a  while  she  struggled  with 
memory.  But  memory  is  a  magician  that 
declines  to  be  coerced.  Now  and  then  it 
will  pull  its  victim  by  the  sleeve,  as  it  had 
pulled  at  Eden,  yet  turn  to  interrogate  and  a 
dream  is  not  more  evanescent.  But  still  she 
struggled  with  it.  A  silence,  an  attitude,  a 
combination  purely  atmospheric  had  evoked  a 
charm,  and  though  memory  declined  to  return 
and  undo  the  spell,  still  she  labored  until  at 
last,  conscious  of  the  futility  of  the  effort,  or 
else  wearied  by  the  endeavor,  she  consoled 
herself  as  in  similar  circumstances  we  all  of 
us  have  done  with  the  mirage  of  anterior  life. 


Eden.  37 

The  possibility  of  recognition  she  then  put 
behind  her,  but  the  man  remained.  There 
was  a  magnificence  about  him  which  discon 
certed  her,  an  air  that  appealed.  In  some 
way  his  evening  dress  had  seemed  an  incon 
gruity.  She  told  herself  that  he  would  look 
better  in  a  silken  pourpoint,  and  better  still  in 
the  chlamys-robe  of  state.  She  decided  that 
he  needed  a  dash  of  color,  some  swirling 
plume  of  red,  and  fell  to  wondering  what  his 
life  had  been.  It  was  evident  to  her  that  he 
had  been  gently  bred.  About  him  the  femi 
nine  influence  was  discernible,  one  no  doubt 
which  begun  at  the  cradle  had  continued  ever 
since.  In  the  absence  of  a  mother  there  had 
been  someone  else,  a  sister,  perhaps,  and  a 
procession  of  sweethearts  to  whom  he  had 
been  swain.  But  the  latter  possibility  she 
presently  dismissed.  Love-making  is  the  oc 
cupation  of  those  that  have  none,  and  Arns- 
wald's  hours  were  seemingly  well-filled.  In 
Salem  he  might  have  left  a  combustible 
maiden,  he  might  even  have  found  one  in 
New  York,  but  in  that  case  Eden  felt  toler 
ably  sure  that  he  had  little  time  in  which  to 


38  Eden. 

apply  the  match.  And  then  at  once  her  fancy 
took  a  tangential  flight;  a  little  romance  un 
rolled  before  her — the  mating  of  Arnswald  to 
some  charming  girl  whom  she  would  herself 
discover,  and  the  life-long  friendship  that 
would  ensue. 

On  the  following  afternoon  therefore,  when 
the  young  man  put  in  an  appearance,  he  was 
received  with  unaffected  cordiality. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  you,"  Eden 
announced,  when  he  found  a  seat.  "  I  am 
glad  you  came,  I  want  you  to  tell  me  more  of 
yourself." 

"  I  reproached  myself  for  having  exhausted 
your  patience  last  evening,"  he  answered. 

"  Then  you  deserve  to  be  punished.  You 
go  with  us  to  the  opera  to-morrow,  do  you 
not?  Very  good,  you  must  dine  with  us  first. 
There  is  a  friend  of  mine  whom  you  will  meet 
there.  I  want  you  to  like  her." 

"  If  she  resembles  you  in  any  way  that  will 
not  be  difficult." 

"  He  begins  well,"  mused  Eden,  and  a  layer 
of  cordiality  dropped  from  her.  But  present 
ly  she  recovered  it.  Arnswald  had  been 


Eden.  Jp 

looking  in  her  face,  and  the  change  in  its  ex 
pression  had  not  passed  unobserved. 

"I  mean,"  he  continued,  "that  there  are 
people  that  make  you  like  them  at  first  sight 
and  you,  Mrs.  Usselex,  are  one  of  those  peo 
ple.  When  I  left  you  last  evening  I  told  my 
self  that  you  exhaled  a  sympathy  which  is  as 
rare  as  it  is  delightful.  I  have  met  few  such 
as  you.  As  a  rule  the  people  I  have  been 
brought  in  contact  with  have  been  hard  and 
self-engrossed.  You  are  among  the  excep 
tions,  and  it  is  the  exception " 

Eden  interrupted  him.  "  Now  that  is  non 
sense,"  she  said  severely.  "  The  people 
whom  we  can  like  are  not  as  infrequent  as  all 
that.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  there  is 
no  one  for  whom  you  really  care? " 

Arnswald  shook  his  head  and  smiled.  "No, 
Mrs.  Usselex,"  he  answered,  "  I  don't  mean 
to  say  that.  There  are  some  for  whom  I  care 
very  much.  There  is  even  one  for  whom 
were  it  necessary  I  would  lay  down  life  itself." 

At  this  Eden  experienced  a  mental  start. 
The  possibility  of  mating  him  to  some  charm 
ing  girl  whom  she  was  herself  to  discover  had 


4°  Eden. 

suddenly  become  remote.  But  she  nodded 
encouragingly  to  the  confidence. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  and  into  his  polar- 
eyes  came  a  sudden  flicker.  "Yes,  there  is 
one  whom  I  have  recently  come  to  know  and 
who  is  to  me  as  a  prayer  fulfilled.  Were  I 
called  upon  to  make  a  sacrifice  for  her,  no 
matter  what  the  nature  of  that  sacrifice  might 
be,  the  mere  doing  of  it  would  constitute  a 
well-spring  of  delight." 

Eden  smiled  at  the  dithyramb  as  were  she 
listening  to  some  fay  she  did  not  see.  Arns- 
wald  had  been  looking  at  her,  but  now,  as 
though  ashamed  of  the  outburst,  he  affected 
a  little  laugh  and  dropped  back  into  the  con 
ventional.  Presently  he  rose  and  took  his 
polar-eyes  away.  When  he  had  gone  Eden 
smiled  again.  "  He  may  have  the  genius  of 
finance,"  she  mused,  "but  he  has  the  genius 
of  love  as  well." 

III. 

EDEN  had  but  recently  returned  to  town 
and  the  claims  of  mantua-makers  and  mil 
liners  were  oppressive.  They  took  her  time, 


Eden.  41 

they  came  to  her  in  the  morning,  and  she, 
with  the  courtesy  of  kings,  returned  the  visit 
in  the  afternoon.  But  to  little  purpose.  They 
were  vexatious  people,  she  discovered.  They 
deceived  her  wantonly.  They  promised  and 
did  not  fulfill.  The  live-long  day  they  had 
iritated  her,  they  had  obtained  her  confidence 
by  false  pretences,  and  now,  after  a  round  of 
interviews  each  more  profitless  than  the  last, 
on  reaching  her  house  the  dust  of  shops  was 
on  her  mantle,  and  she  could  have  gone  in  a 
corner  and  sworn. 

Moreover  it  was  late,  dinner  would  pres 
ently  be  served.  Arnswald,  she  learned,  had 
already  arrived,  he  was  in  the  parlor  with  her 
husband,  and  as  she  hurried  to  her  room  she 
told  herself  that  she  would  have  to  dress  in 
haste,  an  operation  which  to  her  was  always 
fertile  in  annoyance.  An  entire  hour  was 
never  too  much.  But  her  maid  was  agile, 
dexterous  of  hand,  and  before  the  clock 
marked  seven  she  was  fully  equipped,  arrayed 
for  dinner  and  the  opera  as  well. 

On  leaving  the  room,  Eden  left  her  vexation 
qehind  her.  It  had  been  fleeting  and  inoffen- 


42  Eden. 

sive  as  the  anger  of  a  canary.  And  now,  on 
descending  the  stairs,  she  was  in  great  good 
spirits  again,  the  crimes  of  mantua-makers 
and  milliners  were  forgotten,  and  she  prepared 
to  meet  her  husband  and  her  guest.  Half 
way  on  her  journey  to  the  drawing-room,  how 
ever,  she  discovered  that  she  was  empty- 
handed;  she  had  omitted  to  take  a  fan  and 
she  called  to  her  maid  to  bring  her  one.  And 
as  she  called  the  front  door-bell  rang.  She 
hesitated  a  second,  and  called  again.  But 
presumably  the  maid  did  not  hear.  There 
upon  Eden  re-ascended  the  stairs  and  went 
back  to  her  room. 

The  maid  was  busying  herself  in  a  closet 
and  the  fan  was  on  the  table;  Eden  picked  it 
up,  and  as  she  did  so  she  noticed  that  one  of 
the  sticks  was  broken.  It  took  several  min 
utes  to  find  another  which  suited  her  gown,  and 
when  she  again  descended  the  stair  some  little 
time  had  intervened. 

On  reaching  the  parlor  she  drew  the  por 
tiere  aside  and  peered  into  the  room.  At  the 
furthermost  end  stood  Arnswald,  his  back 
turned  to  her,  and  near  him  in  a  low  arm- 


Eden.  4.3 

chair  was  her  husband.  He  seemed  to  be 
reading  something,  and  it  was  evident  that 
her  entrance  had  been  unobserved  either  by 
him  or  by  his  guest. 

For  a  second's  space  Eden  stood  very  still. 
There  was  much  of  the  child  in  her  nature, 
and  during  that  second  she  meditated  on  the 
feasibility  of  giving  them  both  some,  little  sur 
prise.  Then  at  once,  as  though  impelled  by 
invisible  springs,  she  crossed  the  room  very 
swiftly,  very  noiselessly,  her  fan  and  the  fold 
of  her  dress  in  one  hand,  the  other  free  for 
mischief,  and  just  when  she  reached  the  chair 
in  which  her  husband  sat,  she  bent  over  him, 
from  his  unwarned  fingers  she  snatched  a 
note,  and  with  a  rippling  laugh  that  was  like 
the  shiver  of  sound  on  the  strings  of  a  guitar, 
she  waved  it  exultingly  in  the  air. 

Mr.  Usselex  looked  up  at  once,  but  he  had 
looked  too  late;  the  note  had  gone  from  him. 
He  started,  he  made  a  movement  to  repossess 
himself  of  it,  but  Eden,  with  the  ripple  still 
in  her  voice,  stepped  back,  laughed  again,  and 
nodded  to  Arnswald,  who  had  turned  and 
bowed. 


44-  Eden. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried;  "what  have  you 
two  been  concocting?  No,  you  don't,"  she 
continued.  Her  voice  was  unsteady  with 
merriment,  her  eyes  wickedly  jubilant. 
Usselex  had  made  another  attempt  to  re 
capture  the  letter,  and  flaunting  it,  Tantalus- 
fashion,  above  her  head,  she  defied  and  eluded 
him,  gliding  backwards,  her  head  held  like  a 
swan's,  a  trifle  to  one  side.  "  No,  you  don't," 
she  repeated,  and  still  the  laughter  rippled 
from  her. 

"Eden!"  her  husband  expostulated, 
"  Eden—" 

"You  shall  not  have  it,  sir;  you  shall  not." 
And  with  a  pirouette  she  fluttered  yet  further 
away,  the  bit  of  paper  held  daintily  and  aloft 
between  forefinger  and  thumb.  "  Tell  me  this 
instant  what  you  have  been  doing  all  day. 
There,  you  needn't  look  at  Mr.  Arnswald. 
He  won't  help  you.  Will  you,  Mr.  Arnswald  ? 
Of  course  you  won't." 

Usselex,  conscious  of  the  futility  of  pursuit, 
made  no  further  effort.  In  his  face  was  an 
anxiety  which  his  fair  tormentor  did  not  see. 
Once  he  turned  to  Arnswald,  and  Arnswald 


Eden.  4.5 

gave  him  an  answering  glance,  and  once  his 
lips  moved,  but  whatever  he  may  have  in 
tended  to  say  the  words  must  have  stuck  in 
his  throat.  And  Eden,  woman-like,  seeing 
that  she  was  no  longer  pursued,  advanced  to 
a  spot  just  beyond  his  reach,  where  she  hov 
ered  tauntingly,  yet  wary  of  his  slightest 
movement  and  prepared  at  the  first  suspicion 
of  reprisal  to  spread  her  wings  in  flight. 

"  And  who  do  you  suppose  was  here  at 
lunch  to-day?  You  must  guess  or  you  shan't 
have  your  letter  back.  I'll  give  you  just  one 
minute.  Oh!  I  saw  Laura  Manhattan  at  Fan 
tasia's.  Don't  forget  that  we  are  to  dine  with 
her  to-morrow.  She  came  in  to  row  about  a 
dress.  I  was  rowing,  too.  You  have  no  idea 
what  a  day  I  have  had.  You  will  have  to 
give  Fantasia  a  talking  to.  Look  at  the  frip 
pery  I  have  on.  And  she  promised  that  I 
should  have  something  for  to-night.  There 
ought  to  be  some  punishment  for  such  people. 
Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Arnswald?  When 
people  in  Wall  Street  don't  keep  their  prom 
ises,  they  are  put  in  jail,  aren't  they  ?  Well, 
jail  is  too  good  for  that  horrid  old  French- 


46  Eden. 

woman  of  a  dressmaker,  she  ought  to  have 
the  thumb-screws,  the  rack,  and  the  hot  side 
of  the  fagot.  I  will  never  believe  her  again, 
no,  not  even  when  I  know  she  is  telling  the 
truth.  She  is  the  most  ornamental  liar  I  ever 
encountered.  It  is  my  opinion  she  would 
rather  lie  than  not.  Laura  told  me — but 
here,  the  minute's  up — you  must  guess,  you 
must  guess  rightly,  and  you  can  only  guess 
once." 

And  Eden  waved  the  letter  again  and 
laughed  in  her  husband's  beard. 

The  gown  which  she  wore,  and  which  she 
had  characterized  as  frippery,  was  an  artful 
combination  of  tulle  and  of  silk;  it  was  color 
less,  yet  silvery,  and  in  it  Eden,  bare  of  arm 
and  of  neck,  looked  a  water  nymph  garmented 
in  sheen  and  foam.  From  her  hair  came  an 
odor  of  distant  oases.  In  her  eyes  were  evo 
cations  of  summer,  and  beneath  them,  on  her 
cheeks  and  on  the  lobes  of  her  ears,  health 
had  placed  its  token  in  pink.  The  corners 
of  her  mouth  were  upraised  like  the  ends 
of  the  Greek  bow,  and  now  that  she 
was  laughing  her  lips  suggested  a 


Eden.  4.7 

red  fruit  cut  in  twain.  She  was  the  per 
sonification  of  caprice,  adorably  constructed, 
and  constructed  to  be  adored.  Arnswald  evi 
dently  found  her  appearance  alluring,  for  his 
eyes  followed  her  every  movement. 

"  Hurry  up,"  she  continued,  as  merrily  as 
before;  "  the  minute's  gone." 

Usselex  may  have  been  annoyed,  but  he 
affected  to  enter  into  the  jest.  "  Your 
father — "  he  hazarded,  and  stretched  his 
hand  for  the  note. 

But  Eden  again  retreated.  "You  have 
lost,"  she  cried;  "no  one  was  here."  And 
finding  herself  at  a  safe  distance,  "  I  am  a 
better  guesser  than  you,"  she  added,  "  I  can 
tell  what  is  in  this  letter  without  reading  it. 
Now  answer  me,  what  will  you  give  me  if  I 
do?  What  ought  he  to  give  me,  Mr.  Arnswald? 
Prompt  him,  can't  you  ?  1  have  never  seen 
anyone  so  stupid." 

"  Give  it  to  me,  Eden;  you  shall  make  your 
own  terms " 

"Ah!  you  capitulate,  do  you?  It's  too  late! 
It's  too  late!"  she  repeated  in  ringing  cres 
cendo,  "You  ought  to  have  guessed;"  and 


48  Eden. 

for  greater  safety  she  held  the  letter  behind 
her.  "  It's  about  stocks,  Kansas-back  bonds, 
seven  sights  offered  and  nothing  bid — I  have 
guessed  right,  have  I  not?" 

"Eden—" 

"Answer  me;  I  have  guessed  right,  I  know 
I  have."  And  laughing  still,  she  whisked  the 
letter  from  behind  her  and  held  it  to  her  eyes. 
"  Why,  it's  from  a  woman,"  she  cried.  "  What 
is  this?  '  You  have  filled  my  life  with  living 
springs.'  Whose  life  have  you  filled?" 

The  merriment  had  deserted  her  lips,  the 
color  had  gone  from  her  cheeks.  The  hand 
which  held  the  letter  fell  with  it  to  her  side. 
In  her  face  was  the  contraction  of  pain. 
She  looked  at  her  husband.  "  Whose  life  is 
it  that  you  have  filled? "  she  asked,  and  her 
voice,  that  had  rippled  with  laughter  a  mo 
ment  before,  became  suddenly  chill  and  sub 
dued. 

In  the  doorway  before  her  the  butler  ap 
peared  in  silent  announcement  that  dinner 
was  served. 

Arnswald    made   a   step   forward.      "  The 


Eden,  4.9 

letter  is  mine,  Mrs.  Usselex,"  he  said, 
« I  _" 

"  Oh,"  she  murmured,  with  a  sigh  that 
might  have  been  accounted  one  of  relief.  "  Oh, 
it  is  yours,  is  it?"  And  eying  him  inquisitorially 
for  a  second's  space,  she  placed  the  letter  in 
his  hand. 

"  We  may  as  well  go  in  to  dinner,"  she 
added  at  once,  and  with  a  glance  at  her  hus 
band  she  led  the  way. 

IV. 

IN  Dogian  days  there  was  a  Libro  d'Oro  in 
which  the  First  Families  of  Venice  were  in 
scribed  in  illuminated  script.  In  New  York 
there  is  also  a  Golden  Book,  unwritten,  yet 
voiced,  and  whoso's  name  appears  thereon 
has  earned  the  cataloguing  not  from  the 
idlesse  of  imbecile  forefathers,  but  from 
shrewdness  in  coping  with  the  public,  fore 
thought  in  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  pre 
science  in  the  values  of  land  and  grain. 

At  the  opera  that  night  the  aristocrats  of  the 
New  World  were  in  full  force.  Among  them 
were  men  who  could  not  alone  have  wedded 


SO  Eden. 

the  Adriatic  but  have  dowered  her  as  wel1. 
Venice  in  her  greatest  splendor  had  never 
dreamed  such  wealth  as  theirs.  There  was 
Jabez  Robinson,  his  wife  and  children, 
familiarly  known  as  the  Swiss  Family  Robin 
son,  the  founder  of  their  dynasty  having  emi 
grated  from  some  Helvetian  vale.  A  light 
ning  calculator  might  have  passed  a  week  in 
the  summing  up  of  their  possessions.  There 
was  old  Jerolomon,  who  through  the  manipu 
lation  of  monopolies  exhaled  an  odor  of  Sing- 
Sing,  the  which  had  been  so  attractive  to  the 
nostrils  of  an  English  peer  that  he  had  taken 
his  daughter  as  wife.  There  was  Madden,  who 
controlled  an  entire  state.  There  was  Bucholz, 
who  declared  himself  Above  the  Law,  and 
who  had  erupted  in  New  York  three  decades 
before  with  the  seven  sins  for  sole  capital. 
There  was  Bleecker  Bleecker,  who  each  year 
gave  away  a  pope's  ransom  to  charity  and 
pursued  his  debtors  to  the  grave.  There  was 
Dunwoodie,  whose  coat  smelled  of  benzine 
and  whose  signature  was  potent  as  a  king's. 
There  was  Forbush,  who  lunched  furtively  on 
an  apple  and  had  given  a  private  establish- 


Eden.  $i 

ment  to  each  one  of  his  twelve  children. 
There  was  Gwathmeys,  who  had  twice  ruined 
himself  for  his  enemies  and  made  a  fortune 
from  his  friends.  There  was  Attersol,  who 
could  have  bought  the  White  House  and 
whose  sole  pleasures  were  window-gardening 
and  the  accord  of  violins. 

On  the  grand-tier  was  Mrs.  Besalul,  on 
whom  society  had  shut  its  door  because  she 
had  omitted  to  close  her  own.  In  an  adjoin 
ing  box  was  Mrs.  Smithwick,  the  bride  of  a 
month,  fairer  than  that  queen  whose  face  was 
worth  the  world  to  kiss,  and  who  the  previous 
winter  had  written  a  novel  of  such  impropriety 
that  when  it  was  published  her  mother  for 
bade  her  to  read  it.  There  was  Miss  Pickett, 
a  debutante,  who  possessed  the  disquieting 
ugliness  of  a  monkey  and  who  had  announced 
that  there  was  nothing  so  immoral  as  ennui. 
There  was  Mrs.  Bouvery,  who  claimed  connec 
tion  with  every  one  whose  name  began  with 
Van.  Mrs.  Hackensack,  one  of  the  few  sur 
viving  Knickerbockers.  The  Coenties  twins, 
known  as  Dry  and  Extra  Mumm.  And  there 
were  others  less  interesting.  Mrs.  Ponder, 


5*  Men. 

for  instance,  famous  for  her  musicales,  which 
no  one  could  be  bribed  to  attend.  Mrs. 
Skolfield,  who  was  so  icy  in  her  manner  that 
a  poet  who  had  once  ventured  her  way,  had 
caught  a  cold  in  his  head  which  lasted  a 
week.  Mrs.  Nevers,  mailed  in  diamonds;  Mrs. 
Goodloe,  mailed  in  pearls;  and  a  senator's  wife 
in  a  bonnet. 

The  only  empty  box  in  the  house  was 
owned  by  Mr.  Incoul,  then  abroad  on  his 
honeymoon. 

And  in  and  out  through  these  boxes  there 
there  sauntered  a  contingent  of  men,  well- 
groomed,  white  of  glove,  and  flowered  as 
to  their  button-holes.  Among  them  was 
Harry  Tandem,  who  had  inaugurated  silver 
studs.  Brewster,  who  had  invented  a  new 
figure  for  the  cotillon,  and  with  him  Harrison 
Felton,  the  maestro  of  that  decadent  dance. 
There  was  George  Rerick,  who  stuttered  to 
the  debutantes  as  he  had  stuttered  to  their 
mothers  before  them.  Furman  Fellowes,  who 
told  fairy  tales  to  impressionable  young  girls, 
and  who  would  presently  get  drunk  in  Sixth 


Eden.  53 

Avenue.    Jack  Rodney,  M.  F.  H.,  and  Alpha 
bet  Jones,  the  novelist,  in  search  of  points. 

As  Eden  entered  the  vestibule  of  her  box 
the  curtain  had  parted  on  the  second  act.  A 
Miss  Bolten  and  her  mother  whom  she  had 
invited  had  already  arrived,  and  Arnswald, 
she  noticed,  went  immediately  forward  to 
salute  them;  then  returning,  he  assisted  her 
with  her  wrap.  In  a  moment  the  vestibule 
was  invaded  by  Jones;  and  Eden,  after  a  word 
or  two  to  her  guests,  settled  herself  in  the 
front  of  the  box  and  promenaded  her  opera- 
glass  about  the  house.  The  promenade  com 
pleted,  she  lowered  it  to  the  stalls.  Near 
the  orchestra  a  woman  sat  gazing  fixedly  at 
her.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  about 
the  woman.  She  was  as  well  dressed,  as  young, 
and  as  pretty  as  were  the  majority  of  those 
present;  it  was  the  singularity  of  her  attitude 
that  arrested  Eden's  attention.  But  that  at 
tention  she  was  not  permitted  to  prolong. 
The  adjoining  box,  the  occupants  of  which 
she  had  not  yet  noticed,  was  tenanted  by  Mrs. 
Manhattan,  who  now  claimed  her  recognition 
with  some  little  feminine  word  of  greeting. 


54  Eden. 

On  one  side  of  Mrs.  Manhattan  was  an  elderly 
man  whom  Eden  did  not  remember  to  have 
seen  before,  and  behind  her  stood  Dugald 
Maule. 

"  Eden,"  whispered  Mrs.  Manhattan,  "  I 
want  you  to  know  Mr.  Maule's  uncle;  he  has 
been  minister  abroad  you  know;"  and  so  say 
ing,  with  a  motion  of  her  head,  she  desig 
nated  the  elderly  man  at  her  side.  "  He  says," 
she  added,  "  that  you  are  the  most  appetizing 
thing  he  has  seen." 

At  the  brusqueness  of  the  remark  Eden 
started  as  from  a  sting.  The  old  gentleman 
leaned  forward. 

"  Don't  be  annoyed,  my  dear,"  he  mumbled; 
"  I  was  in  love  with  your  mother." 

Then  with  an  amiable  commonplace  the  old 
beau  bowed  and  moved  back. 

Maule  bowed  also,  and  presently,  taking  ad 
vantage  of  a  recitative,  he  left  Mrs.  Manhattan 
and  entered  Eden's  box.  He  seemed  at  home 
at  once.  He  shook  Mr.  Usselex  by  the  hand, 
saluted  Miss  Bolten  and  her  mother,  ignored 
Jones,  and  dislodging  Arnswald,  took  his 
seat. 


Eden.  55 

"  The  season  promises  well,"  he  whispered 
confidentially  to  Eden. 

Jones,  who  had  not  accorded  the  slightest 
attention  to  Maule,  was  discoursing  in  an  ani 
mated  fashion  with  Miss  Bolten.  On  the 
stage  in  a  canvas  forest  a  man  stood,  open- 
mouthed,  raising  and  lowering  his  right  arm 
at  regular  intervals;  and  next  to  her  Eden 
caught  the  motion  of  Mrs.  Manhattan's  fan. 

"  No,"  she  heard  Jones  say,  "  I  have  every 
reason  to  doubt  that  Shakspere  was  the 
author  of  Hamlet.  In  the  first  place — " 

"Ah!"  murmured  Miss  Bolten.  She  did 
not  appear  particularly  interested  in  Jones  or 
in  the  man  on  the  stage.  She  was  occupied 
in  scrutinizing  the  occupants  of  the  different 
boxes.  "And  whom  do  you  suspect?"  she 
asked,  her  eyes  foraging  an  opposite  baignoire 

"Another  man  with  the  same  name,"  Jones 
answered,  and  laughed  a  little  to  himself. 

Eden  tapped  him  on  the  sleeve.  "  Mr. 
Jones." 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Usselex." 

"Look  in  the  orchestra,  in  the  third  row, 
the  aisle  seat  on  the  left." 


5^  Eden. 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Usselex." 

"  There  is  a  woman  looking  up  here.  She 
has  just  turned  her  head.  Do  you  see  her?  " 

"  That  woman  with  the  blonde  hair?  " 

"  Yes;  do  you  know  her?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  know  her.  But  I  know 
who  she  is — " 

"Who  is  she?" 

"  She  has  an  apartment  at  the  Ranleigh. 
Her  name  is  Mrs.  Feverill.  She  is  a  grass 
widow;  rather  fly,  I  fancy " 

"H'm;"  said  Eden,  "I  am  sure  I  don't 
know  what  you  mean  by  *  fly.'  There,  it  isn't 
necessary  to  explain  -  -  "  She  turned  her 
head — "Mr.  Arnswald,  would  you  mind  getting 
me  my  cloak,  there  seems  to  be  a  draught." 

Arnswald,  who  had  been  loitering  in  the 
rear  of  the  box,  went  back  into  the  vestibule 
in  search  of  the  garment. 

On  the  stage  the  tenor  in  green  and  gold 
was  still  gesticulating,  open-mouthed  as  be 
fore,  and  presently  there  came  a  blare  of 
trumpets,  a  shudder  of  brass,  dominated  by 
the  cry  of  violins,  and  abruptly  the  curtain  fell. 

Arnswald   advanced    with  the   cloak,    and 


Eden.  57 

Jones  stood  up.  The  latter  said  some  parting 
word  to  Miss  Bolten  and  to  her  mother,  bent 
over  Eden's,  hand  and  left  the  box.  Arns- 
wald  dropped  in  the  seat  which  he  had  va 
cated.  It  was  evident  at  once  that  he  and 
Miss  Bolten  had  met  before.  He  had  leaned 
forward,  and  was  whispering  in  her  ear. 

"  Eden,"  Maule  began,  "  do  you  remember 
that  ring  you  gave  me  ? " 

"  Mr.  Maule,  you  forget  many  things " 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  Mr.  Maule  ?  there  was 
a  time " 

"  Yes,  there  was  a  time,  as  you  say;  but 
that  time  is  no  longer." 

"  You  have  something  against  me." 

"  I  ?     Nothing  in  the  world." 

"Ah,  but  Eden,  you  have,  though;  that  is 
evident:  when  I  last  saw  you " 

"  The  next  day  I  learned  your  reputation. 
It  is  deplorable." 

"  When  I  last  saw  you  you  gave  me  a  ring. 
A  serpent  with  its  tail  in  its  mouth.  You  said 
it  meant  eternity." 

"  Yes,  I  know  I  did ;  but  -    -  " 

"  Did  it  mean  nothing  as  well?  " 


58  Eden. 

"  A  circle  represents  zero,  does  it  not  ? 

"  Eden,  Eden,  how  cruel  you  can  be!  Will 
you  not  let  me  see  you  ?" 

"  Certainly,  I  am  at  home  on  Saturdays." 

"Yes,  I  know— Saturday  is  Fifth  Avenue 
day.  Eden,  tell  me,  do  you  remember  Second 
Avenue  ? " 

From  the  orchestra  came  a  murmur,  a  con 
sonance  of  harps  and  of  flutes.  The  curtain 
had  parted  again. 

"  No,"  she  answered;  "  I  have  forgotten." 

"Surely " 

"  Yes,  I  have  forgotten.  It  is  good  to  for 
get.  This  is  the  last  act,  is  it  not? " 

"  No,  it  is  the  prologue." 

The  speech  was  as  significant  as  her  own. 
For  a  second  he  was  silent,  and  bit  his  under 
lip.  Then,  as  Jones  had  done  before,  he 
stood  up. 

"  I  will  come,"  he  muttered  in  her  ear,  "but 
not  on  Saturday." 

"Good-night,  Mr.  Maule." 

"Good-night,  Mrs.  Usselex." 

With  a  circular  salute  to  the  other  occu 
pants,  Maule  left  the  box.  Presently  it  was 


Eden.  59 

invaded  by  other  visitors  of  whom  no  particu 
lar  mention  is  necessary.  At  last  there  was 
a  wail  and  final  crash  in  the  orchestra.  The 
opera  was  done. 

On  the  way  home  Usselex  questioned  his 
wife.  "  Who  is  that  man  Maule  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Miss  Bolten  is  interested  in  him,  I  be 
lieve." 

"I  hope  not,"  Usselex  returned;  "he  has  a 
bad  face." 

V. 

THE  next  morning  Eden  awoke  in  her  great 
room  that  overlooked  Fifth  Avenue.  The 
night  had  been  constellated  with  dreams,  and 
now  as  they  faded  from  her  there  was  one 
that  lingered  behind.  Through  a  rift  of  con 
sciousness  she  had  seen  herself  talking  with 
feverish  animation  to  Arnswald,  on  some  sub 
ject  of  vital  importance,  the  which,  however, 
she  was  unable  to  recall;  it  had  gone  with  the 
night,  leaving  on  the  camera  of  memory  only 
the  tableau  behind.  For  a  little  space  she 
groped  after  it  unavailingly,  and  then  dismissed 
it  from  her.  But  still  the  tableau  lingered 
until  it  became  obscured  by  her  own  vexation, 


60  Eden. 

She  felt  annoyed  as  at  an  impertinence. 
What  right  had  Arnswald  to  trespass  in  her 
dreams? 

She  rang  the  bell,  and  when  in  answer  to 
the  summons  her  maid  appeared,  she  gave 
herself  up  to  the  woman's  ministrations.  The 
annoyance  faded  as  the  dream  had  done,  and 
she  fell  to  thinking  of  the  day  and  of  her  hus 
band.  At  one  there  was  a  luncheon  at  which 
she  was  expected,  and  in  the  evening  there 
was  a  dinner  at  Mrs.  Manhattan's.  Her  hus 
band,  she  knew,  had  gone  to  his  office  hours 
ago  and  would  not  return  until  late.  It  had 
occurred  to  her  before  that  he  worked  harder 
than  his  clerks;  even  Arnswald  seemed  to 
have  more  leisure  than  he.  But  on  this  partic 
ular  forenoon,  when  her  equipment  was  com 
pleted,  but  one  idea  channeled  her  rumina 
tions,  and  that  was  that  if  her  husband  worked 
harder  than  his  clerks,  it  was  because  of  her. 

She  smiled  a  little  at  the  thought,  and  then 
at  herself  in  the  mirror.  Truly  the  guests  at 
the  luncheon  might  have  been  recruited  from 
the  four  quarters  of  the  globe,  and  few  could 
be  fairer  than  she.  She  was  contented  with 


Eden.  61 

her  appearance,  not  in  any  sense  because  it 
might  eclipse  that  of  other  women,  but  be 
cause  he  was  proud  of  it,  and  because  his 
pride  and  laborious  days  were  all  in  all  for 
her.  She  gave  to  her  gown  and  to  the  arrange 
ment  of  her  hair  that  coup  de  maitre  which  no 
maid,  however  expert,  is  able  to  administer, 
and  presently  had  herself  driven  up  the 
avenue  to  the  house  at  which  she  was  to  be 
entertained. 

The  luncheon,  as  the  phrase  is,  went  off 
very  well.  Made  up  of  fresh  gossip  and  new 
dishes,  it  was  stupid  yet  agreeable,  as  women's 
luncheons  are  apt  to  be.  But  on  leaving  it 
Eden  felt  depressed.  It  was  the  first  of  the 
kind  which  in  her  quality  of  married  woman 
she  had  attended,  and  as  her  carriage  rolled 
down  the  avenue  again,  she  wondered  were  it 
possible  that  such  things  as  she  heard  could 
be  true,  the  story  that  had  been  told  about 
Viola  Raritan,  for  instance,  and  the  general 
agreement  following  it  that  married  men  were 
the  worst*.  Surely,  she  told  herself,  they 

*  The  reader  is  referred  to  The  truth  about  Tris- 
trem  Varick* 


62  Eden. 

might  be,  all  of  them  indeed  save  one,  who 
was  above  reproach.  As  for  her  recent  com 
panions,  they  discredited  virtue  in  seeming  to 
possess  it.  At  the  memory  of  things  they 
had  implied,  the  color  mounted  to  her  cheeks. 

On  the  opposite  sidewalk  a  girl  was  loiter 
ing.  For  a  second,  Eden,  through  the  open 
window,  eyed  her  gown.  She  raised  some 
flowers  to  her  face,  and  when  she  put  them 
down  again  her  face  was  white.  Through  the 
window  she  had  seen  a  cab  pass,  and  in  the 
cab  her  husband  and  a  woman. 

In  a  conflict  of  emotions  such  as  visit  those 
who  learn  the  dishonor  and  the  death  of  one 
they  cherished  most,  Eden  reached  her  door. 
She  left  the  carriage  before  the  groom  had 
descended  from  the  box,  and  hurried  into  the 
house.  There  she  entered  the  drawing-room 
and  sought  for  a  moment  to  collect  her 
thoughts.  It  was  impossible,  she  kept  telling 
herself,  that  such  a  thing  could  be.  She  had 
been  mistaken;  it  was  not  her  husband  that 
she  had  seen,  and  if  it  were  her  husband  then 
was  he  on  some  errand  as  innocent  as  her 
own.  But  it  was  her  husband.  The  effort 


Eden.  6j 

she  was  making  to  deceive  herself  was  useless 
as  broken  glass.  And  as  for  the  woman  with 
whom  he  was  driving,  what  had  he  to  do  with 
her  or  she  with  him?  She  was  certain  she 
had  seen  her  face  before. 

In  her  nervousness  she  rose  from  her  seat 
and  paced  the  room,  tearing  her  gloves  off  and 
tossing  them  from  her  as  she  walked. 

In  the  lives  of  most  of  us  there  are  hours  of 
such  distress  that  in  search  of  a  palliative  we 
strive  as  best  we  may  to  cheat  ourselves  into 
thinking  that  the  distress  is  but  a  phase  of  our 
own  individual  imagination,  close-locked 
therein,  barred  out  of  real  existence,  and  un 
important  and  delusive  as  the  creations  of 
dream.  And  as  Eden  paced  the  room  she 
tried  to  feel  that  her  distress  was  but  a  fig 
ment  of  fancy,  an  illusory  representation 
evoked  out  of  nothing.  She  had  been  en 
ervated  by  the  gossip  of  the  lunch-table;  a 
child  startled  by  the  possible  horrors  of  a  dark 
closet  was  never  more  absurd  than  she.  It 
was  nonsense  to  suppose  that  a  man  such  as 
her  husband  could  be  capable  of  a  vulgar  in 
trigue. 


6/f.  Eden. 

On  the  mantel  a  clock  ticked  dolently,  as 
though  in  sympathy  with  her  woe,  and  pres 
ently  to  her  inattentive  ears,  it  rang  out  four 
times.  In  an  hour,  she  reflected,  in  two 
hours  at  most,  he  would  return.  She  would 
ask  him  where  he  had  been,  and  everything 
would  be  explained.  It  was  nonsense  for 
her  to  torment  herself.  Of  course  it  would  be 
explained,  and  meanwhile  — 

And  as  she  determined  that  meanwhile  she 
would  give  the  matter  no  further  thought  the 
butler  entered  the  room,  bearing  a  note  on  a 
salver,  which  he  gave  to  her  and  withdrew. 
The  superscription  was  in  her  husband's  hand 
writing  and  she  pulled  the  envelope  apart, 
confident  that  the  explanation  for  which  she 
sought  was  contained  therein.  But  in  it  no 
explanation  was  visible.  It  was  dated  from 
Wall  Street.  "  Dearest  Eden,"  it  ran,  "  I  am 
detained  on  business.  Send  excuses  to  Mrs. 
Manhattan.  In  haste,  as  ever,  J.  U." 

"  Detained  on  business,"  she  repeated  aloud 
very  firmly  and  pressed  her  hand  to  her  head. 
She  was  calm,  less  agitated  than  she  had  been 
before.  It  behooved  her  to  determine  what 


Eden.  65 

she  should  do.  Seemingly,  but  one  course 
was  open  to  her,  and  suddenly  she  perceived 
that  she  had  stopped  thinking.  Night  had 
seized  and  surrounded  her  ;  it  was  of  this, 
perhaps,  that  she  had  spoken  to  Arnswald  in 
her  dream. 

In  the  morning  her  faith  had  been  unob- 
scured,  confident  as  a  flower  at  dawn.  Then 
doubt  had  come, and  now,  as  the  afternoon  de 
parted,  so  did  all  belief  as  well.  It  was  no 
more  hers  to  recall  than  the  promise  of  an 
earlier  day.  She  had  done  her  best  to  detain 
it,  she  had  clutched  it;  but  she  had  questioned, 
and  faith  is  impatient  of  coercion  and  restless 
if  examined.  Save  its  own  fair  face  it  brings 
no  letter  of  introduction;  welcome  it  for  that, 
and  it  is  at  once  at  home;  but  look  askance, 
and  it  dissolves  into  a  memory  and  a  reproach. 
Eden  had  startled  it,  unwittingly  perhaps;  but 
she  had  startled  it  none  the  less.  It  had 
watched  its  opportunity  as  a  guest  illy  treated 
may  watch  for  his;  and  when  suspicion,  like  the 
lackey  that  it  is,  had  held  the  door  ajar,  it  had 
eluded  her  and  gone. 

Automatically,  as  though  others  than  her- 


66  Eden. 

self  guided  her  movement,  Eden  touched  a 
bell.  "  Harris,"  she  said,  when  the  man  ap 
peared,  "  go  to  Mrs.  Manhattan's  and  say 
that  Mr.  Usselex  and  myself  are  unavoidably 
prevented  from  dining  with  her  to-night. 
That  will  do."  And  this  order  delivered,  she 
resumed  her  former  seat.  Down  the  street 
she  marked  advancing  dusk.  The  sun  had  sunk 
in  cataracts  of  champagne.  Westward  the  sky 
was  like  the  apotheosis  in  Faust,  green-barred 
and  crimson,  with  background  of  oscillant  yel 
low.  The  east  was  already  grey.  Overhead 
was  a  shade  of  salmon  which  presently  disap 
peared.  Then  dusk  came,  and  with  it  a  col 
orless  vapor  through  which  Night,  cautious  at 
first  as  misers  are,  displayed  one  sequin,  then 
another,  till  taking  heart  it  unbarred  all  its 
treasury  to  the  world. 

For  some  time  after  the  man  had  gone 
Eden  remained  in  the  drawing-room.  She 
found  her  gloves  and  drew  one  on  again,  but 
the  other  she  tormented  abstractedly  in  her 
hand.  In  her  enforced  inaction  she  fell  to 
consoling  herself  as  children  do,  arguing  with 
discomfiture  as  though  its  shadow  was  in- 


Eden.  67 

effectual,  as  though  trouble  and  she  were  face 
to  face,  and  yet  too  far  removed  one  from  an 
other  to  ever  really  meet.  An  hour  passed, 
and  still  she  sat  unassured,  restless  of  thought 
and  conscious  only  that  an  encroaching  dark 
ness  had  obscured  a  vista  on  which  her  eyes 
had  loved  to  dwell. 

Truly  the  heart  has  logic  that  logic  does 
not  know,  and  as  Eden  let  the  incidents  of  the 
afternoon  and  of  the  previous  evening  parade 
in  dumb  show  before  her,  something  there 
was  that  kept  whispering  that  she  was  taking 
appearances  for  facts.  She  strove  to  listen  to 
the  whisper,  but  the  fantoches  were  froward 
and  insistent;  the  sturdier  her  effort  to  dispel 
them  the  closer  they  swarmed.  Sometimes  of 
their  own  accord  they  would  leave  her,  she 
would  think  herself  done  with  them,  her  eyes 
filled  in  testimony  to  her  deliverance,  and  ab 
ruptly  back  they  came.  But  still  the  whisper 
persisted,  it  was  growing  potent,  and  its 
voice  was  clear.  It  kept  exhorting  to 
patience,  it  exorcised  appearances,  and  ad 
vanced  little  pleas  of  its  own. 

Eden  was  only  too  willing  to  be  guided.  "  I 


68  Eden. 

am  impatient,"  she  mused,  "but  I  will  wait." 
Another  hour  limped  away,  and  though  an 
hour  limps  it  may  leave  a  balm  behind. 
The  lamps  in  the  drawing-room  had  been 
lighted,but  the  servant  had  come  and  gone  un 
observed.  Eden  was  still  closeted  in  herself. 
"  Surely,  by  eleven  at  the  latest  he  will  re 
turn,"  she  reflected,  "  and  then  all  will  be  ex 
plained.  It  is  a  thankless  task  this  of  build 
ing  imaginary  dungeons.  There  are  hours  in 
which  I  let  fancies  resolve  themselves  into 
facts  and  the  facts  fossilize  into  skeletons." 
An  episode  of  her  girlhood  came  back  to  her 
and  she  smiled.  "  Perhaps  father  was  right; 
I  may  have  hemiopia,  after  all." 

She  stood  up  from  her  seat  and  was  about 
to  leave  the  room  when  she  heard  the  front 
door  open,  and  in  a  second  her  husband's 
step. 

Eden  drew  the  portiere  aside  and  looked 
out  in  the  hall.  Usselex  had  his  back  to 
her.  He  was  taking  off  his  overcoat.  She 
spoke  to  him  and  he  turned  at  once,  one  arm 
still  unreleased.  At  last  he  freed  himself  and 
came  to  her. 


Eden.  69 

"  You  got  my  note,  did  you  not  ? "  he  be 
gan.  "  I  am  sorry  about  this  evening.  Could 
you  not  go  to  Mrs.  Manhattan's  without 
me  ?  Something  always  seems  to  turn  up  at 
the  last  moment." 

"  I  hardly  expected  you  so  early,"  Eden  an 
swered.  "  I  sent  word  to  Laura."  She  was 
looking  at  her  husband,  but  her  husband  was 
not  looking  at  her.  He  seemed  preoccupied 
and  nodded  his  head  abstractedly. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  muttered,  with  singular  in- 
appositeness.  "  Yes,  of  course.  But  there," 
he  added  and  turned  again  to  the  door,  "  I 
must  hurry." 

"  Whom  were  you  with  this  afternoon  ?  " 
Eden  asked. 

It  was  as  though  she  had  checked  him  with 
a  rein.  He  stopped  at  once  and  glanced  at 
her. 

"  Did  you  see  me?"  he  inquired;  and  ac 
cepting  her  silence  for  answer  he  continued  at 
once:  "  It's  a  long  story;  I  have  hardly  time 
to  tell  it  now." 

Eden  put  her  hand  on  his  sleeve.  "  Tell  it 
me,"  she  pleaded. 


Y°  Eden. 

For  the  moment  he  stood  irresolute.  "  Tell 
me,"  she  repeated,  and  moved  back,  motion 
ing  him  to  a  chair. 

Usselex  took  out  his  watch.  "  I  must 
hurry,"  he  said  again.  "  But  there,"  he  added 
tenderly,  "  since  you  wish  it,  a  moment  lost  is 
small  matter,  after  all." 

Again  he  glanced  at  he-r  and  hesitated  as 
though  expectant  of  a  respite.  Eden  had  her 
everyday  air;  outwardly  she  was  calm,  but 
something  in  her  appearance,  the  twitch  of  an 
eyelid,  the  quiver  of  a  nostril  perhaps,  re 
vealed  her  impatience. 

Usselex  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  for  a 
second,  with  a  gesture  that  was  habitual  to 
him,  he  plucked  at  his  beard.  "  No,"  he  re 
peated,  "  a  moment  is  small  matter,  after  all. 
H'm.  Eden,  some  years  ago  I  went  abroad. 
During  my  absence  a  cashier  whom  I  trusted, 
and  whom  I  would  trust  again,  speculated 
with  money  that  passed  through  his  hands. 
It  was  not  until  my  return  that  I  learned  of 
the  affair.  But  meanwhile,  as  is  usual  in 
such  cases,  he  was  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
market.  The  money  which  he  had  taken  had 


Eden.  ji 

to  be  accounted  for.  I  had  a  partner  then, 
and  the  cashier  confessed  the  defalcation  to 
him;  it  was  the  only  thing  he  could  do,  and 
he  promised,  I  believe,  that  if  time  were  given 
him  he  would  make  good  the  loss.  The 
amount  after  all  was  not  large — fifteen  thou 
sand  perhaps,  or  twenty  at  the  outside.  But 
my  partner  was  not  lenient.  He  came  of  a 
line  of  New  England  divines,  and  had,  if  I 
remember  rightly,  at  one  time  contemplated 
studying  for  the  ministry.  In  any  event  he 
was  then  an  elder  in  some  up-town  Presbyte 
rian  church.  But  virtue  is  not  amiable.  With 
out  so  much  as  communicating  with  me  he  put 
the  matter  in  the  hands  of  the  authorities, 
and  when  I  returned  the  cashier  was  in  Sing- 
Sing.  Eden,  you  will  hardly  understand  how 
sorry  I  was.  He  had  a  wife  dependent  on 
him — he  had  children.  He  had  been  with  me 
longer  than  my  partner  had,  and  I  liked  him. 
Of  the  two  I  liked  him  the  better.  What  he 
took  I  have  never  been  able  to  view  as  a  theft. 
It  was  what  might  be  called  a  forced  loan. 
Had  I  been  here  it  would  have  been  different; 
but  my  partner  was  obdurate.  You  see,  the 


72  Eden. 

fault,  if  fault  there  were,  was  mine.  The 
salary  I  gave  him  was  small,  and  each  day  I 
allowed  temptation  to  pass  between  his  hands. 
People  say  that  we  should  resist  temptation. 
I  agree  with  them;  temptation  should  be  re 
sisted;  but  when  a  rich  man  preaches  that 
sermon  to  the  poor,  he  forgets  that  where 
temptation  is  vague  to  him  it  may  be  potent  to 
his  hearer.  Oh,  I  don't  mean  to  uphold  dere 
lictions,  but  to  my  thinking  Charity  is  the  New 
Testament  told  in  a  word.  I  think  that  for 
giveness  is  the  essence  of  the  teaching  of 
every  founder  of  an  enduring  creed.  How 
ever,  that  is  not  to  the  point.  The  fact  re 
mained,  the  cashier  was  sent  to  Sing-Sing,  and 
since  then  I  have  done  what  I  could  to  get 
him  out.  It  was  his  wife  that  I  was  with  to 
day.  Poor  girl!  I  have  been  sorry  for  her;  she 
is  but  little  older  than  you,  and  she  has  had 
trials  to  bear  such  as  might  have  sent  another 
to  worse  than  the  grave."  He  paused,  and 
plucking  again  at  his  beard,  he  looked  down 
at  the  rug.  Eden  needed  no  assurance  to 
feel  that  his  words  were  heart-whole  and  sin- 


Eden.  ?j 

cere.  She  moved  to  where  he  stood  and 
touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"  Don't  tell  me  any  more,"  she  said,  and  as 
she  spoke  there  came  to  her  voice  a  tremulous- 
ness  that  was  as  unusual  as  it  was  sweet. 
"You  must  let  me  help  her,  too." 

"  Yes,  Eden,  that  I  will.  It  is  good  of  you 
to  speak  that  way.  It  is  not  only  good,  it  is 
Edenesque.  But  let  me  tell  you  the  rest. 
Governor  Blanchford  is  in  town.  I  went  yes 
terday  to  the  Buckingham,  where  he  is  stop 
ping.  He  could  only  see  me  for  a  moment 
then,  and  this  afternoon  I  went  again  with 
her.  I  am  to  dine  with  him  this  evening. 
When  he  returns  to  Albany  I  think  the  par 
don  will  be  signed."  Again  he  paused  and 
looked  at  his  watch.  "  I  must  dress,"  he 
added;  "will  you  forgive  me — ?" 

"  Forgive  you!  "  she  cried,  "  it  is  your  turn, 
now:  forgive  me.  ' 

Usselex  moved  from  her,  her  hand  still  in 
his,  and  when  their  arms  were  fully  out 
stretched,  he  turned  and  holding  her  to  him 
he  kissed  her  on  either  cheek. 

As    he  left   the    room    Eden   could   have 


74  Eden. 

danced  with  delight.  She  ran  to  the  piano 
and  with  one  hand  still  gloved  she  struck  out 
clear  notes  of  joy.  Presently,  she  too  left  the 
room,  and  prepared  for  dinner.  When  the 
meal  was  served  she  ate  it  in  solitude,  but  the 
solitude  was  not  irksome  to  her;  it  was  popu 
lous  with  recovered  dreams.  Among  the 
dishes  that  were  brought  her  was  one  of 
terrapin,  which  she  partook  of  with  an  art  of 
her  own;  and  subsequently,  in  a  manner  which 
it  must  have  been  a  pleasure  to  behold,  she 
nibbled  at  a  peach — peaches  and  terrapin  rep 
resenting,  as  everyone  knows,  the  two  articles 
of  food  which  are  the  most  difficult  to  eat 
with  grace. 

Later,  when  the  meal  was  done,  Eden  re 
turned  to  the  drawing-room.  Mrs.  Manhattan 
was  unregretted.  The  summer  had  been  fer 
tile  enough  in  entertainments  to  satiate  her 
for  a  twelve-month.  She  had  come  and  gone, 
eaten  and  fasted,  danced  and  driven,  with  no 
other  result  than  the  discovery  that  the  com 
panionship  of  her  husband  was  better  than 
anything  else.  To  her  thinking  he  needed 
only  an  incentive  to  conquer  the  ballot. 


Eden.  75 

There  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
leave  Wall  Street  for  broader  spheres.  She 
had  met  senators  by  the  dozen,  and  he  was 
wiser  than  them  all.  He  might  be  Treasurer 
of  State  if  he  so  willed,  or  failing  that,  minis 
ter  to  the  Court  of  St.  James.  Even  an  in 
ferior  mission  such  as  that  to  the  Hague  or 
to  Brussels  would  be  better  than  the  Street. 
It  was  inane,  she  told  herself,  to  pass  one's 
life  in  going  down  town  and  coming  up  again 
merely  that  another  million  might  be  put 
aside.  An  existence  such  as  that  might  be 
alluring  to  Jerolomon  or  Bleecker  Bleecker,  but 
for  her  husband  there  were  other  summits  to 
be  scaled. 

And  as  Eden,  prettily  flushed  by  the  possi 
bilities  which  her  imagination  disclosed  spec 
tacular-wise  for  her  own  delight,  sat  com 
panioned  by  fancies,  determining,  if  incentive 
were  necessary,  that  incentive  should  come 
from  her,  the  portiere  was  drawn  aside  and 
the  butler  announced  Mr.  Arnswald. 

"  I  ventured  to  come  in,"  he  said,  apologet 
ically,  "  although  I  knew  Mr.  Usselex  was  not 
at  home.  I  wanted " 


7&  Eden. 

"  One  might  have  thought  your  evenings 
were  otherwise  occupied,"  Eden  interrupted, 
a  little  fiercely.  The  intercepted  note  of  the 
preceding  evening  rankled  still.  That  the 
young  man  should  receive  a  letter  from  a 
strange  woman  was,  she  admitted  to  herself,  a 
matter  which  did  not  concern  her  in  the 
slightest.  But  it  was  impertinent  on  his  part 
to  suffer  that  letter  to  be  sent  to  him  at  her 
house. 

"  This  evening,  however,  as  you  see " 

he  began  blandly  enough,    but    Eden    inter 
rupted  him  again. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  it  last  night  ?  "  she 
asked,  with  the  inappositeness  that  was  peculiar 
to  her. 

"  You  are  clairvoyant  enough,  Mrs.  Usselex, 
to  know  untold  what  I  thought.  It  was  of 
that  I  wished  to  speak  to  you.  It  is  rare  that 
such  an  opportunity  is  given  me." 

"  To  hear  Wagner  ?  " 

"  No,  not  to  hear  Wagner  particularly." 
He  hesitated  and  looked  down  at  his  pointed 
shoes,  and  at  the  moment  Eden  for  the  life  of 
her  could  not  help  thinking  of  a  dissolute 


Eden.  77 

young  god  arrayed  in  modern  guise.  After 
all,  she  reflected,  it  is  probably  the  woman's 
fault. 

"  No,  not  that,"  he  continued,  and  looked 
up  at  her  again,  his  polar-eyes  ablaze  with 
unexpected  auroras.  "  Not  that;  but  think 
what  it  is  for  a  man  to  love  a  woman,  to  di 
vine  that  that  love  is  returned,  and  yet  to  feel 
himself  as  far  from  her  as  death  is  from 
life.  Think  what  it  must  be  for  him 
to  love  that  woman  so  well  that  he  would 
not  haggle  over  ten  years,  no,  nor  ten  hun 
dred  years  of  years,  could  he  pass  an  hour 
with  her,  and  then  by  way  of  contrast  to  find 
himself  suddenly  side  by  side  with  her,  listen 
ing  to  such  music  as  we  heard  last  night." 

"  Mr.  Arnswald,  you  are  out  of  your  senses," 
Eden  exclaimed.  A  suspicion  had  entered 
her  mind  and  declined  to  be  dismissed. 

"  Am  I  not  ?  "  he  answered.  "  Tell  me 
that  I  am.  I  need  to  be  told  it.  Yet  last 
night,  for  the  first  time,  it  seemed  to  me  that 
perhaps  all  might  still  be  well.  It  was  hope 
that  I  found  with  you,  Mrs.  Usselex;  it  was 
more  than  hope,  it  was  life." 


•?  8  Eden. 

And  as  his  eyes  rekindled,  Eden  told  her 
self  that  his  attitude  could  have  but  one  sig 
nification. 

"  I'll  not  play  Guinevere  to  your  Lance 
lot,"  she  murmured.  And  turning  her  back  on 
him  she  left  the  room. 

VI. 

THE  following  day  was  unstarred  by  any 
particular  luncheon,  or  at  least  by  none  at 
which  Eden  was  expected.  Her  own  repast 
she  consumed  in  solitude,  and  as  she  rose 
again  from  the  table,  Mrs.  Manhattan  was 
announced. 

Mrs.  Manhattan  was  a  woman  of  that  class 
which  grows  rarer  with  the  days.  She  was 
very  clever  and  knew  how  to  appear  abso 
lutely  stupid.  According  to  the  circumstances 
in  which  she  was  placed,  she  could  be  frivo 
lous  or  sagacious,  worldly,  and  sensible.  In 
fact,  all  things  to  all  men.  Born  in  Virginia, 
a  Leigh  of  Leighton,  she  had  married  a  rich 
and  popular  New  Yorker.  After  marriage,  and 
on  removing  to  Fifth  Avenue,  she  had  the 
tact  to  leave  her  accent  and  her  family  tree 


Eden.  7p 

behind.  Her  husband's  great-grandfather  was 
lost  in  the  magnificence  of  myth;  her  own  fig 
ured  in  Burke.  If  Nicholas  Manhattan  had 
been  a  snob — which  he  was  not — that  fact 
would  have  constituted  his  sole  grievance 
against  her.  But  from  Laura  Leigh,  of  a 
North  country  descent  and  a  feudal  castle  in 
Northumberland,  never  an  allusion  could  be 
wrung.  In  marrying  a  New  Yorker  she 
espoused  all  New  York,  its  customs,  its  preju 
dices,  its  morals,  its  vices,  everything,  even  to 
the  high  pitch  of  its  voice;  and  so  well  did  she 
succeed  in  identifying  herself  with  it  and  with 
its  narrow  localisms,  that  in  a  few  years  after 
her  arrival,  not  to  visit  and  be  visited  by  Mrs. 
Nicholas  Manhattan  was  to  argue  one's  self  out 
into  the  nethermost  limbo  of  insignificance. 

Had  Mrs.  Manhattan  been  any  other  than 
herself,  Eden  would  have  sent  back  some  femi 
ninely  prevaricatory  excuse.  She  was  ener 
vated  still  by  the  emotions  of  the  preceding 
day,  and  her  desire  for  companionship  was 
slight.  But  Mrs.  Manhattan  was  not  only  Mrs. 
Manhattan,  she  was  a  woman  for  whom  Eden 
entertained  a  quasi-filial,  quasi-sororal  affec- 


8o  Eden. 

tion.  She  went  forward  therefore  at  once, 
her  hands  outstretched  to  greet. 

On  ordinary  occasions  it  was  Mrs.  Manhat 
tan's  custom  to  salute  Eden  with  a  kiss,  but 
on  this  particular  afternoon  she  contented 
herself  with  taking  the  outstretched  hands  in 
her  own,  holding  Eden,  as  it  were,  at  arms 
length. 

"You  abominable  little  beauty,"  she  began, 
"  what  did  you  mean  by  leaving  me  in  the 
lurch  last  night  ?  I  came  here  expecting  to 
find  you  in  bed  with  the  doctor.  Mais  pas  du 
tout.  Madame  s'embellit  a  vu  d'ceil" 

"  Laura,  dear,"  Eden  answered,  when  they 
had  found  seats,  "don't  be  annoyed  at  me. 
I  wanted  very  much  to  come.  But  you  know 
the  proverb:  man  proposes " 

" — And  woman  accepts.  Yes,  I  know  ;  go 
on." 

"Well,  I  simply  couldn't  help  it." 

"Couldn't  help  it !  What  do  you  mean  by 
saying  you  couldn't  help  it?  Don't  sit  there 
with  your  back  to  the  light ;  I  want  to  look  at 
you.  Eden,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Laura 
Leigh,  something  has  gone  wrong  with  you. 


Eden.  Si 

What  business  have  you,  at  your  age,  to  have 
circles  under  your  eyes  ?  " 

"  Presumably  because  I  was  unable  to  get  to 
your  dinner.  I  am  really  sorry,  Laura.  Did 
you  have  many  people  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  didn't.  Nicholas  won't  let  me 
give  large  dinners.  There  were  only  eighteen 
of  us.  I  suppose  I  could  have  got  the  Bol- 
tens  to  come  and  take  your  place.  But  then 
you  know  how  people  are.  Unless  you  invite 
them  a  fortnight  in  advance  they  think  they 
are  asked  to  fill  up — as  they  are.  H'm!  I  was 
mad  enough.  Nicholas  was  to  have  taken  you 
in,  and  by  way  of  compensation  you  were  to 
have  had  your  old  flame,  Dugald  Maule,  on 
the  other  side  of  you.  Parenthetically,  it  is 
my  opinion  that  he  loves  you  still — beyond 
the  tomb,  as  they  love  in  Germany.  How 
ever,  that  is  not  to  the  point  ;  the  dinner  was 
a  failure.  Afterwards  we  all  went  to  the 
Amsterdams;  all  of  us,  that  is,  except  Jones, 
who  said  he  had  an  engagement,  which  meant 
I  suppose,  that  he  was  not  expected." 

"Jones,  the  novelist?" 

"  Yes,  Alphabet  Jones.     Personally  he  is  as 


82  Eden. 

inoffensive  as  a  glass  of  lemonade,  but  I  can't 
bear  his  books.  He  uses  words  I  don't  under 
stand,  and  tells  of  things  that  I  don't  want  to. 
Nicholas,  however,  will  have  him." 

And  at  the  thought  of  her  husband's 
tyranny,  Mrs.  Manhattan  shrugged  her 
shoulders  and  gazed  complacently  in  her 
lap. 

"  Laura,  I  dont  believe  your  dinner  was  a 
failure." 

"  Well,  not  exactly  a  failure  perhaps,  but  it 
is  always  upsetting  to  have  people  at  the  last 
moment  send  word  that  they  can't  come.  It 
is  not  only  upsetting,  it's  dangerous.  It  takes 
the  flavor  of  the  soup  away.  It  makes  every 
thing  taste  bad."  And  as  Mrs.  Manhat 
tan  said  this  she  glared  at  Eden  with  the 
ferocity  of  an  irritated  Madonna.  "  Now  tell 
me,"  she  continued,  "what  was  the  matter  with 
you  ? " 

"  Really,  Laura,  it  was  nothing.  I  can't 
tell  you."  She  hesitated  a  second  and  into 
the  corners  of  her  exquisite  mouth  there 
passed  a  smile.  "  I  saw  my  husband  in  a  cab 
with — with " 


Eden.  83 

"A  woman  ?" 

Eden  stared  at  her  friend  with  the  astonish 
ment  of  a  gomeril  at  a  contortionist.  The 
smile  left  her  lips. 

"  Did  you  see  him  too  ? "  she  asked. 

"Why,  no,  you  little  simpleton,  I  didn't  see 
him  ;  but  I  haven't  got  a  husband  of  my  own 
for  nothing." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  your  husband  deceives 
you  ? " 

"  Deceives  me  ?  no,  not  a  bit  of  it.  He  only 
thinks  he  does.  Is  that  what  has  been  the 
matter  with  you?" 

"  Laura " 

"  And  was  it  because  you  caught  your  hus 
band  in  a  cab  that  you  couldn't  come  to 
dinner?  But,  heavens  and  earth!  if  other 
women  were  to  act  like  you  no  one  would 
even  dare  to  attempt  to  entertain.  As  it  is," 
Mrs.  Manhattan  grumbled  to  herself,  "  the 
Mayor  ought  to  pass  an  ordinance  on  the 
subject.  He  has  little  enough  to  do  in  re 
turn  for  his  double  lamp-posts." 

"  No,  Laura,  how  absurd  you  are!"  Eden  ex 
claimed.  "John  was  detained  on  business." 


$4  Eden. 

"  Ah  !  I  see."  And  Mrs.  Manhattan  looked 
at  her  in  a  gingerly  fashion  out  of  the  corner 
of  one  eye. 

"  Yes,  he  sent  me  word  that  he  was  de 
tained  on  business  and  for  me  to  send  word 
to  you." 

"  That  was  most  thoughtful  of  him.  And 
it  was  after  you  got  the  note  that  the  cab 
episode  occurred?  " 

"  No,  it  was  just  before." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  can  understand."  Mrs.  Man 
hattan  paused  a  moment.  To  anyone  else 
save  Eden  the  pause  would  have  been  signifi 
cant.  "H'm,"  she  went  on,  " business  may 
mean  other  men's  money,  or  it  may  mean 
other  men's  wives.  I  do  hope,  though,  you 
were  sensible  enough  not  to  mention  anything 
about  the  lady  and  the  cab." 

"  Oh,  but  indeed,  I  did.  He  explained  the 
whole  thing  at  once." 

"  From  the  cab  window  ? " 

'•  When  he  came  back,  I  mean  —  in  the 
evening." 

"  Some  little  time  must  have  intervened." 

"Yes,  two  hours,  I  should  judge." 


Eden.  £5 

Mrs.  Manhattan  nodded.  "  Well,"  she  said, 
with  an  air  of  profound  sapience,  "  no 
man  ever  talks  to  a  woman  for  two  hours 
unless  he  keeps  saying  the  same  thing  all 
the  time." 

"  Laura,  that  is  not  like  you.  You  know 
perfectly  well  that  friendship  can  exist  be 
tween  a  man  and  a  woman  without  there  being 
any  thought  of  love-making." 

"Oh,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say. 
But  there  is  the  difference  between  love  and 
friendship.  To  those  who  have  witnessed  a 
bull-fight,  the  circus  I  hear  is  commonplace." 

*'  You  mean  to  imply  that  my  husband  was 
enjoying  a  bull-fight?" 

"I  dont  mean  anything  of  the  sort.  But 
what  a  way  you  have  of  reducing  generalities 
to  particulars!  No,  I  don't  mean  that  at  all. 
I  am  speaking  in  the  air.  What  I  meant  to 
imply  was  that  love  has  consolations  which 
friendship  does  not  possess." 

"  Laura,  you  don't  understand.  It  is  not  a 
question  of  that.  This  woman's  husband  has 
got  into  trouble  and  John  was  trying  to  get 
him  out." 


86  Eden. 

Mrs.  Manhattan  eyed  her  again  in  the  same 
gingerly  fashion  as  before.  "  He  said  that, 
did  he?" 

Eden  nodded. 

"  I  hope  you  pretended  to  believe  him." 

"  Pretended  !  Why,  I  did  believe  him.  I 
believed  him  at  once." 

"  Yes,  that's  a  good  way."  Mrs.  Manhattan 
tormented  the  point  of  her  nose  reflectively. 
"  I  used  to  too,"  she  added.  "  Now  I  simply 
don't  see.  That  I  find  even  better.  It  makes 
everything  go  so  smoothly.  No  arguments, 
no  recriminations,  perfect  peace.  Nicholas, 
as  you  know,  is  the  most  delightful  man  in 
the  world.  I  have  the  highest  respect  for 
him.  If  he  took  it  into  his  head  to  leave  the 
planet  and  me  behind,  I  should  feel  it  my 
duty  as  a  Christian  woman  to  see  that  the 
trappings  of  my  woe  were  becoming  to  his 
memory.  But — but,  well,  I  should  feel  that 
I  had  been  vaccinated.  I  should  feel  that  a 
minor  evil  had  protected  me  from  a  greater 
one.  In  other  words,  I  would  not  marry 
again.  It  is  my  opinion,  an  opinion  I  believe 
which  is  shared  by  a  good  many  other  people, 


Eden.  87 

that  a  woman  who  marries  a  second  time  does 
not  deserve  to  have  lost  her  first  husband. 
Now,  as  I  say  of  Nicholas,  I  have  the  greatest 
respect  for  him.  He  is  charming.  I  haven't 
the  vaguest  idea  how  he  would  get  along 
without  me.  I  do  everything  for  him,  but  I 
am  careful  not  to  exact  the  impossible.  We 
get  along  splendidly  together.  He  makes  the 
most  elaborate  efforts  to  throw  dust  in  my 
eyes,  and  I  aid  him  to  the  best  of  my  ability, 
but  I  always  know  what  he  is  up  to.  I  can  tell 
at  a  glance  where  he  is  in  any  affair.  The 
moment  he  gives  up  his  after-dinner  cigar  I 
can  hear  the  fifes  in  the  distance — he  is 
making  himself  agreeable  to  someone  with 
whom  he  intends  to  pass  the  evening.  The 
second  stage  is  when  he  comes  in  of  an  after 
noon  with  a  rose  in  his  button-hole.  That 
means  that  he  has  been  sending  flowers  and 
that  the  siege  is  progressing.  The  third 
stage  is  when  he  begins  to  smoke  again. 
That  means  that  the  castle  has  capitu 
lated  and  further  diplomacy  is  unnecessary. 
The  fourth  and  final  stage  is  when  he  says 
in  an  off-hand  way,  '  Laura,  I  saw  some 


88  Eden. 

stones  this  afternoon  at  Tiffany's.'  That 
means  remorse  and  reward  —  remorse  at 
his  own  wickedness,  and  reward  for  my  non 
interference.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world 
that  a  man  appreciates  more  than  that.  Yes, 
I  certainly  do  my  duty.  Nicholas,  as  you 
know,  was  a  widower  when  I  married  him. 
By  his  first  wife  he  had  one  child  and  a  great 
deal  to  put  up  with.  Whereas,  now — why, 
Eden,  what  are  you  crying  about?" 

"  I  am  not  crying."  In  a  moment  Eden 
had  choked  back  a  sob.  Her  eyes  flashed  the 
more  brilliant  for  their  tears,  but  her  voice 
had  lost  its  former  gentleness,  it  had  grown 
vibrant  and  resolute.  "  Laura,  if  he  has  de 
ceived  me,  I  will  leave  him." 

"  If  who  has  deceived  you?  Surely  NicllO- 
Inc  " 

IctD   ~~" 

"  Laura,  I  am  in  no  mood  for  jest.  Last 
night  I  believed  my  husband,  to-day  I  do  not. 
If  I  can  get  proof,  I  leave  him." 

"  That  is  what  we  all  say,  but  we  don't." 

"  If  he  has  deceived  me " 

"  Eden,  how  foolish  you  are!  No,  but,  Eden, 
you  are  simply  childish.  You  are  sunshine 


Eden.  89 

one  minute  and  tornado  the  next.  Why,  I 
haven't  a  doubt  in  the  world  but  that  Mr. 
Usselex  was  trying  to  get  the  cab-lady's  hus 
band  out  of  trouble.  I  haven't  the  faintest 
doubt  of  it." 

"Nor  had  I  before  you  came." 

"  Oh,  Eden,  forgive  me.  What  I  said  was 
idle  chatter.  There,  do  be  your  old  sweet 
self  again." 

Eden  stood  up  and  pinioned  her  forehead 
with  her  hands.  "  I  wonder,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  I  wonder — Laura,  do  you  know  that  it  is  of 
a  thing  like  this  that  hatred  comes  ? " 

"  My  dear,  I  had  no  idea  that  you  were  so 
much  in  love." 

But  as  she  spoke  there  came  into  Eden  s 
face  an  expression  so  new  and  unlike  her  own, 
that  Mrs.  Manhattan  started.  "Sit  down," 
she  said  coaxingly.  "  Do  sit  down."  She 
took  the  girl's  hands  in  hers  and  drew  her 
gently  to  the  lounge  on  which  she  was  seated. 
"Eden,"  she  continued,  after  a  moment,  "be 
tween  ourselves,  I  think  you  are — how  shall  I 
say? — a  little — "  And  Mrs.  Manhattan 
touched  her  forehead  and  nodded  significantly. 


po  Eden. 

"I?    Not  a  bit." 

"So  much  the  worse,  then.  It  would  be  an 
excuse.  Now  listen  to  me.  They  say  that 
when  a  woman  gets  to  be  thirty  the  first  thing 
she  does  is  to  ignore  her  age,  and  that  by  the 
time  she  is  forty  it  has  escaped  her  memory 
entirely.  I  am  not  forty  yet,  but  I  am  old 
enough — well,  I  am  old  enough  to  be  wiser 
than  you,  and  I  say  this — you  can  contradict 
it  as  much  as  you  please,  but  I  will  say  it  all 
the  same — you  have  more  pride  in  yourself 
than  love  for  your  husband." 

"Which  means  ?" 

"  I  mean  this,  that  when  pride  gets  the 
upper  hand,  love  is  bound  to  be  throttled.  In 
some,  pride  is  a  screen;  behind  it  they  rage  at 
their  ease:  in  others  it  is  a  bag  of  wind;  prick 
it  and  behold,  a  tempest.  With  you,  just  at 
present,  it  is  a  screen  ;  haven't  I  seen  you 
torment  your  rings  ever  since  I  came  in  ? 
Well,  torment  them,  but  for  goodness  sake 
don't  change  the  screen  into  a  balloon.  There 
is  nothing  as  bad  form  as  that,  and  nothing  as 
ineffectual.  My  dear,  if  you  want  to  keep 
your  husband,  think  of  yourself  not  first,  but 


Eden.  91 

last,  or,  if  you  can't  think  in  that  way,  act  as 
though  you  did." 

"And  be  a  hypocrite." 

"  Eden,  you  are  impossible.  Be  a  hypo 
crite  ?  Why,  of  course  you  must  be  a  hypo 
crite.  Hypocrisy  is  Christianity's  most  admir 
able  invention.  Banish  it,  and  what  do 
you  find?  Not  skeletons  in  the  closet,  but 
catacombs  of  distasteful  things.  No,  Eden, 
be  a  hypocrite.  We  all  are  ;  everyone  pre 
fers  it.  There  was  a  man  once  who  got  up  in 
the  morning  with  the  idea  of  telling  everybody 
the  truth.  By  sunset  he  was  safe  in  an  asy 
lum.  People  don't  want  the  truth;  they  con 
tent  themselves  with  sighing  for  it;  they  know 
very  well  that  when  they  get  in  its  way,  it 
bites.  It  is  vicious,  truth  is.  It  makes  us 
froth  at  the  mouth.  If  you  haven't  had  the 
forethought  to  cuirass  yourself  with  indiffer 
ence,  truth  can  cause  a  hydrophobia  for  which 
the  only  Pasteur  is  time.  No,  hypocrisy  has 
had  the  sanction  of  pope  and  prelate.  Let  us 
hold  to  it;  let  us  hold  to  what  we  may  and 
not  try  to  prove  anything." 

"What  are  you  talking  about  then?" 


$2  Eden. 

"  How  irritating  you  are,  Eden!  I  am  talk 
ing  about  you.  I  am  trying  to  give  you  some 
advice.  No  one  gave  me  any.  I  had  to 
gather  it  on  the  way.  I  come  here,  and  find 
ing  you  melancholy  as  a  comic  paper,  I  try  to 
offer  the  fruit  of  two  decades  of  worldly  expe 
rience,  and  instead  of  thanking  me,  you  ask 
what  I  am  talking  about."  Mrs.  Manhattan 
sank  back  in  her  ample  folds  and  laughed. 
"  Don't  you  have  any  tea  in  this  house  ? " 

"You  are  right,  Laura;  I  am  irritating, 
I  am  absurd."  As  she  spoke,  she  left  the 
lounge.  The  tragedy-air  had  departed.  She 
rang  the  bell,  gave  the  order  for  tea,  and  dur 
ing  the  remainder  of  Mrs.  Manhattan's  visit, 
comported  herself  so  sagaciously  that  she 
succeeded  in  casting  dust  in  that  lady's  eyes 
in  a  manner  which  would  have  thrown  that 
lady's  husband  into  stupors  of  admiration. 

When  her  friend  at  last  decided  to  take 
herself  and  her  experience  away,  Eden  re 
mained  in  the  drawing-room.  Down  the 
adjacent  corner  she  saw  the  sun  decline.  On 
the  horizon  it  left  an  aigrette  of  gold.  Then 
that  disappeared.  Day  closed  its  window,  and 


Eden.  pj 

Night,  that  queen  who  reigns  only  when  she 
falls,  shook  out  the  shroud  she  wears  for 
gown. 

How  long  Eden  sat  alone  with  her  thoughts 
she  could  not  afterwards  recall.  For  some 
time  she  was  conscious  only  of  a  speck  of  dust 
which  Mrs.  Manhattan  had  brought  from  the 
outer  world  and  forgotten  to  remove.  It  was 
such  a  little  speck  that  at  first  Eden  had  pre 
tended  not  to  see  it,  but  when  Mrs.  Manhat 
tan  had  been  gone  a  few  minutes  it  insisted 
on  her  attention.  She  could  not  help  eying 
it,  and  the  more  closely  she  eyed  it,  the  larger 
it  grew.  From  dust  it  turned  to  dirt,  from 
minim  into  mountain.  And  presently  it  ob 
scured  her  sight  and  veiled  her  mind  with 
shadows. 

Strive  as  she  might,  she  could  not  argue  it 
away.  She  tried  to  reason  with  herself,  as  a 
neurosthene,  aware  of  his  infirmity,  may  rea 
son  with  the  phantasm  which  he  himself  has 
evoked.  But  this  was  a  phantasm  that  no 
argument  could  coerce.  Did  she  say,  You 
are  unreal,  it  answered,  I  am  Doubt.  At  each 


p</  Eden. 

effort  she  made  to  rout  it,  it  loomed  to  greater 
heights. 

In  the  tremor  that  beset  her  she  groped  in 
memory  for  a  talisman.  She  recalled  her  hus 
band's  wooing  of  her,  his  attitude  and  indul 
gent  strength.  Yet  had  not  Mrs.  Manhattan 
implied  that  men  are  double-faced  ?  She 
thought  of  his  laborious  days,  yet  had  not 
Mrs.  Manhattan  defined  business  as  often 
synonymous  with  other  men's  wives  ?  She 
recalled  his  excuse  and  was  mindful  of  Mrs. 
Manhattan's  interpretation. 

At  each  new  effort  the  doubt  increased,  and 
still  she  kept  arguing  with  herself,  until  sud 
denly  she  perceived  that  she  had  stopped 
thinking.  Doubt  was  pushing  her  down 
into  an  abyss  where  all  was  dark,  and 
still  she  struggled,  and  still  she  struggled  in 
vain;  she  was  sinking;  strength  was  leaving 
her,  for  doubt  is  masterful,  till  with  a  start  she 
felt  that  she  was  safe.  It  was  not  in  memory 
she  found  a  talisman,  but  in  her  heart.  It  was 
her  love  that  worked  the  spell.  Love,  and 
confidence  in  him  whose  name  she  bore.  The 
mountain  dissolved  into  minim,  the  dirt  into 


Eden.  95 

dust,  and  she  took  the  speck  and  blew  it  back 
into  the  shadows  from  which  it  had  come. 

VII. 

THAT  evening  Eden  and  her  husband  dined 
alone.  But  it  was  not  till  coffee  was  served  and 
the  servants  left  the  room  that  either  of  them 
had  an  opportunity  of  exchanging  speech  on 
matters  other  than  such  as  were  of  passing 
interest.  For  the  rout  which  both  were  to 
attend  that  night  Eden  had  already  prepared. 
It  was  the  initial  Matriarch's  of  the  season, 
and  rumor  had  it  that  it  was  to  be  a  very 
smart  affair.  On  this  occasion  the  waiters,  it 
was  understood,  were  to  be  in  livery;  and  an 
attempt  had  been  made  to  give  the  rooms 
something  of  the  aspect  and  aroma  which  ap 
pertains  to  a  private  house.  As  a  conse 
quence  those  of  the  gentler  sex  who  were 
bidden  had  given  some  thought  to  their 
frocks,  while  those  who  were  not  had  gar 
mented  themselves  in  their  stoutest  mantles 
of  indifference. 

On  receiving  the  large  bit  of  cardboard  on 
which  the  invitation  was  engraved,  Eden  had 


96  Eden. 

at  first  determined  to  word  and  dispatch  a 
regret.  Entertainments  of  that  kind  had 
ceased  to  appeal  to  her.  At  gatherings  of 
similar  nature  which  she  attended  she  had 
long  since  divided  the  male  element  into  the 
youths  who  wished  to  seem  older  than  they 
looked,  and  the  mature  individuals  who 
wished  to  appear  younger  than  they  were  ; 
while  as  for  the  women,  they  reminded 
her  of  Diogenes  looking  for  a  man.  On  re 
ceiving  the  invitation  she  had,  therefore,  de 
termined  to  send  a  regret,  but  on  mentioning 
the  circumstance  to  her  husband  he  had  ex 
pressed  the  desire  that  she  should  accept. 
He  liked  to  have  her  admired,  and  moreover, 
though  the  function  itself  might  be  tiresome, 
still  she  owed  some  duty  to  society,  and  there 
were  few  easier  ways  in  which  that  duty  could 
be  performed.  Accordingly  an  acceptance 
was  sent,  and  as  a  reward  of  that  heroism 
Usselex  had  brought  her  a  plastron  of  opals. 

That  plastron  she  now  wore.  Her  gown, 
which  was  cut  a  trifle  lower  on  the  back  than 
on  the  neck,  was  of  a  hue  that  suggested  the 
blending  of  sulphur  and  of  salmon.  Her  arms 


Eden.  P7 

were  cased  in  Suede,  into  which  she  had  rolled 
that  part  of  the  glove  which  covers  the  hand. 
Save  for  the  wedding-token  her  fingers  were 
ringless.  She  had  nothing  about  her  throat. 
But  from  shoulder  to  shoulder,  from  breast  to 
girdle,  was  a  cuirass  of  gems,  flecked  with 
absinthe  and  oscillant  with  flame.  It  was  bar 
baric  in  splendor,  Roman  in  beauty;  it  startled 
and  captivated.  And  in  it  Eden  looked  the 
personified  spirit  of  Bysance,  a  dream  that 
had  taken  form.  Her  husband  let  his  eyes 
have  all  their  will  of  her.  Even  the  butler 
was  dazzled. 

During  the  progress  of  the  meal  the  pres 
ence  of  that  person  and  of  his  underlings  pre 
vented  any  conversation  of  reportable  inter 
est.  But  while  the  courses  were  being 
served  Eden  noticed  that  her  husband  was 
in  an  unusually  sprightly  mood.  He  touched 
on  one  topic  of  the  day,  presently  on  another, 
and  left  that  for  a  third.  To  each  he  gave  a 
new  aspect.  It  was  as  though  he  were  tossing 
crystal  balls.  Now,  when  an  educated  man  is 
not  a  pedant  he  can  in  discoursing  about 
nothing  at  all  exert  a  very  palpable  influence. 


pc?  Eden. 

Mr.  Usselex  talked  like  a  philosopher  who 
has  seen  the  world.  To  many  a  woman  there 
is  nothing  more  wearisome  than  the  conversa 
tion  of  a  man  who  has  nothing  to  desire  and 
nothing  to  fear.  That  man  is  usually  her 
husband.  But  with  Eden  it  was  different. 
She  listened  with  the  pleasure  of  a  convales 
cent.  She  was  just  issuing  from  the  little 
nightmare  of  the  afternoon,  and  as  he  spoke, 
now  and  then  she  interrupted  with  some 
fancy  of  her  own;  but  all  the  while  deep  down 
in  the  fibres  of  her  being  she  felt  a  smart  of 
self-reproach  that  mingled  with  exultation. 
Her  suspicions  had  vanished.  They  had  been 
born  of  the  dusk  and  creatures  of  it.  And  she 
looked  down  through  the  opals  into  her  heart 
and  over  at  her  husband  and  smiled. 

The  butler  and  his  underlings  had  departed. 
The  meal  was  done.  Usselex  smiled  too. 
He  left  his  seat  and  went  behind  her.  He 
drew  her  head  back,  bent  over,  and  kissed  her 
on  the  lips;  then  mirroring  his  eyes  in  hers, 
he  kissed  her  again,  drew  a  chair  to  her  side, 
and  took  her  hand  in  his. 

4<  Look  at  me,  Eden,"  he  said.  "  I  love  your 


Eden.  pp 

eyes.  Speak  to  me.  I  love  your  voice.  They 
say  that  at  twenty  a  man  loves  best.  They  are 
wrong.  Youth  is  inconstant.  It  is  with  age 
a  man  learns  what  love  can  be.  Do  you  not 
think  I  know?  Look  at  me  and  tell  me. 
Eden,  joy  frightens.  Sometimes  I  wonder 
that  I  had  the  courage  to  ask  you  to  be  my 
wife.  Sometimes  I  fear  you  think  me  too 
old.  Sometimes  I  fear  you  may  regret.  But 
you  must  never  regret.  Any  man  you  might 
have  met  could  be  more  attractive  than  I,  but 
no  one  could  care  for  you  more;  no  one.  Tell 
me;  you  believe  that,  do  you  not?" 

And  Eden,  turning  her  head  with  the  mo 
tion  of  a  swan,  answered,  "I  know  it." 

"  Eden,"  he  continued,  "  my  life  has  not 
been  pleasant.  I  have  told  you  little  of  it. 
In  the  lives  of  everyone  there  are  incidents 
that  are  best  left  buried.  If  I  have  been  reti 
cent  it  has  not  been  from  lack  of  confidence; 
it  has  been  because  I  feared  to  distress  you. 
For  years  I  did  not  understand;  the  reason  of 
pain  is  seldom  clear.  At  times  I  thought  my 
strength  overtaxed.  I  accused  fate;  it  had 
been  wilful  to  me.  It  had  beckoned  me  to 


I  CD  Eden. 

pleasant  places;  when  I  reached  them  the 
meadows  disappeared,  the  intervales  were 
quagmires,  and  the  palace  I  had  espied  was  a 
prison,  with  a  sword  for  bolt.  I  accused  jus 
tice  as  I  had  accused  fate.  Eden,  men  are 
not  always  sincere.  There  are  people  who  do 
wrong,  who  injure,  wantonly,  in  sport.  And 
so  I  accused  justice  :  I  had  expected  it  to  be 
human;  but  justice  is  straight  as  a  bayonet,  and 
her  breasts  are  of  stone.  It  was  long  before 
I  understood,  but  when  I  saw  you  I  did. 
What  I  had  suffered  was  needful;  it  was  a 
preparation  for  you.  No,  justice  is  never 
human,  but  sometimes  it  is  divine." 

He  had  been  speaking  in  a  monotone,  his 
voice  sinking  at  times  into  a  whisper,  as 
though  he  feared  some  other  than  herself 
might  hear  his  words.  Eden's  hand  still  lay 
within  his  own,  and  now  he  stood  up  and  led 
her,  waist-encircled,  to  the  outer  room.  There 
they  found  other  seats,  and  for  a  moment 
both  were  silent. 

"  If  I  have  not  questioned  you,"  Eden  said, 
at  last,  "  it  has  been  for  a  woman's  reason.  I 
am  content.  Had  you  a  grief,  I  would  de- 


Eden.  lor 

mand  to  share  it  with  you.  It  would  be  my 
right,  would  it  not?  But  of  what  has  gone 
before  I  prefer  to  remain  in  ignorance.  It  is 
not  that  I  am  incurious.  It  is  that  I  prefer  to 
think  of  your  life  as  I  think  of  my  own,  that 
its  beginning  was  our  wedding-day.  I  too  am 
some  times  afraid.  There  are  things  of  which 
I  also  have  been  reticent.  I  remember  once 
thinking  that  to  be  happy  was  a  verb  that  had 
no  present  tense.  I  do  not  think  so  now," 
she  added,  after  a  moment;  and  to  her  exqui 
site  lips  the  smile  returned.  "  There  are  so 
many  things  I  want  to  tell,"  she  continued. 
"Before  I  met  you  I  thought  myself  in  love. 
Oh,  but  I  did,  though.  And  it  was  not  until 
after  I  had  known  you  that  I  found  that  which 
I  had  taken  for  love  was  not  love  at  all. 
How  did  I  know  ?  Well — you  see,  because 
that  is  not  love  which  goes.  And  that  went. 
It  was  for  the  man  I  cared,  not  the  individual. 
A.t  the  time  I  did  not  understand,  nor  did  I 
until  you  came.  Truly  I  don't  see  why  I 
should  speak  of  this.  Every  girl,  I  fancy, 
experiences  the  same  thing.  But  when  you 
came  life  seemed  larger.  You  brought  with 


102 


Eden. 


you  new  currents.  Do  you  know  what  I 
thought?  People  said  I  married  you  for 
money.  I  married  you  because — what  do  you 
suppose,  now  ?  Because  I  loved  you  ?  But  at 
that  time  I  told  myself  I  had  done  with  love. 
No,  it  was  not  so  much  for  that  as  because  I 
was  ambitious  for  us  both.  It  was  because  I 
thought  Wall  Street  too  small  for  such  as  you. 
It  was  because  I  discerned  in  you  that  power 
which  coerces  men.  It  was  because  I  believed 
in  the  future;  it  was  because  I  trusted  you. 
Yes,  it  was  for  that,  and  yet  this  afternoon — 
What  is  it,  Harris  ?  " 

A  servant  had  entered  the  room,  bearing  a 
letter  on  a  tray. 

"  A  letter  for  you,  sir  "  he  said. 

Usselex  took  the  note,  opened  the  envel 
ope,  which  he  tossed  on  the  table,  and  pos 
sessed  himself  of  the  contents. 

"  Is  the  messenger  waiting?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Very  good.  Say  I  will  be  there  immedi 
ately." 

The  man  bowed  and  left  the  room. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Eden — " 


Eden.  ioj 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Nothing  of  any  moment — a  matter  of  busi 
ness  to  which  I  must  attend."  He  glanced  at 
the  clock.  "  It  is  after  ten,"  he  added.  "  You 
will  not  want  to  leave  for  Delmonico's  before 
half-past  eleven,  will  you  ?  Very  good ;  I 
will  be  back  long  before  then."  He  had  risen 
from  his  seat,  and  now  he  bent  over  and  took 
her  hand  in  his.  "  I  am  sorry  I  have  to  go. 
It  is  so  seldom  we  have  an  evening  together. 
And  I  had  counted  on  this." 

Eden  raised  a  finger  warningly.  "If  you 
are  not  back  in  time,"  she  said,  "  I  will  send 
for  Arnswald  and  go  with  him." 

"I  can  trust  him  with  you,"  he  answered, 
and  left  the  room.  In  a  moment  he  returned, 
hat  in  hand.  "  By  the  way,  Eden,  I  forgot  to 
ask — you  have  sent  out  cards,  have  you 
not?" 

"  Yes,  the  world  is  informed  that  Mrs.  John 
Usselex  is  at  home  on  Saturdays." 

"  Would  you  mind  sending  that  announce 
ment  to  some  one  whom  you  don't  know  ? 
It's  just  for  the  civility  of  the  thing." 

"  Certainly.     Who  is  it  ? " 


1 04.  Eden. 

"A  Mrs.  Feverill." 

"  Feverill  ?  Mrs.  Feverill."  Eden  contracted 
her  eyebrows.  "  Where  have  I  heard  that 
name  before?" 

"  I  don't  think  you  have  ever  heard  it." 

Eden  laughed.  "  She  wears  blue  velvet,  I 
am  sure;  but  I  will  send  the  card.  Where 
does  she  live  ?" 

Usselex  bent  over  and  touched  her  forehead 
with  his  lips.  "  That  is  good  of  you,"  he  said. 
"  She  will  take  it  very  kindly."  And  with 
that  he  moved  to  the  door. 

"But  what  is  the  address?"  Eden  called 
after  him. 

"The  Ranleigh,"  he  answered;  and  from 
the  hall  he  added,  in  a  louder  tone,  "  I  will  be 
back  in  less  than  an  hour." 

"  The  Ranleigh,"  she  repeated  to  herself. 
"  The  Ranleigh  !  "  And  then  suddenly  the 
wall  of  the  room  parted  like  a  curtain;  to  her 
ears  came  a  cry  of  violins,  dominated  and 
accentuated  by  a  blare  of  brass.  Mrs.  Man 
hattan  was  at  her  elbow.  Behind  her  was 
Jones;  beneath  was  a  woman,  her  face  turned 
to  hers.  She  caught  the  motion  of  Mrs.  Man- 


Eden.  105 

hattan's  fan.  Beyond,  in  a  canvas  forest, 
stood  a  man,  open-mouthed,  raising  and  low 
ering  his  right  arm  at  regular  intervals.  And 
between  the  shiver  of  violins  and  the  shudder 
of  trumpets,  she  heard  some  one  saying, 
"Mrs.  Feverill,  that  is — rather  fly.  Stops  at 
the  Ranleigh."  At  once  the  music  swooned. 
The  opera-house  dissolved  into  mist,  and 
Eden  was  in  a  carriage,  eying  through  the 
open  window  the  cut  of  a  passer's  gown.  In 
her  lap  were  some  flowers  ;  she  raised  them  to 
her  face,  and  as  she  put  them  down  again,  a 
cab  drove  past,  bearing  her  husband  and 
the  woman  who  was  considered  fly.  And  this 
was  the  woman  he  wished  her  to  receive  ! 
She  caught  and  pinioned  her  forehead  in  her 
hands.  In  the  distance  the  shadow  of  the 
afternoon  loomed  again,  but  this  time  more 
monstrous  and  potent  than  before  And 
nearer  and  nearer  it  came — blacker  than  hate 
and  more  appalling  than  shame;  in  a  moment 
it  would  be  on  her;  she  would  be  shrouded  in 
it  for  evermore,  and  no  defense — not  one. 

"  No,  no,"  she  murmured.     Her  hands  left 
her  forehead.     She   clutched   her  throat    as 


io6  Eden. 

though  to  tear  some  invisible  grasp  away. 
"  No,  no,"  she  murmured,  "  it  cannot  be." 

"  Look  at  me,  Eden,"  some  one  was  saying; 
"look  at  me;  I  love  your  eyes.  Youth  is  in 
constant.  It  is  with  age — " 

It  was  her  husband  reassuring  her  even  in 
his  absence.  "  Speak  to  me;  I  love  your  voice." 
And  memory,  continuing  its  office  of  mercy, 
served  as  aegis  and  exorcised  advancing  night. 
In  her  nervousness  at  the  parried  attack,  she 
left  her  seat  and  paced  the  room,  the  opals 
glittering  on  her  waist.  "  But  he  told  me,"  she 
mused,  "he  told  me  that  the  woman's  husband 
was  in  trouble — that  he  was  endeavoring  to 
aid  them  both.  What  did  I  hear  when  I  first 
met  him  ?  There  was  a  clerk  or  someone  in 
his  office,  a  man  whom  he  trusted  who  de 
ceived  him,  who  was  imprisoned,  and  to  whose 
people  he  then  furnished  means  for  support. 
It  is  criminal  for  me  to  doubt  him  as  I  have. 
Do  I  not  know  him  to  be  generous  ?  have  I 
not  found  him  sincere  ?  " 

She  shook  out  a  fold  of  her  frock  impa 
tiently.  "A  child  frightened  at  momentary 
solitude  was  never  more  absurd  than  I."  For 


Eden.  707 

a  little  space  she  continued  her  promenade  up 
and  down  the  room,  leaving  at  each  turn 
some  fringe  of  suspicion  behind.  And  pres 
ently  the  entire  fabric  seemed  to  leave 
her.  To  the  corners  of  her  mouth  the  smile 
returned.  She  went  back  to  the  sofa  and  was 
about  to  resume  her  former  seat  when  her  eyes 
fell  on  the  envelope  which  her  husband  had 
tossed  on  the  table.  Mechanically  she  picked 
it  up  and  glanced  at  the  superscription.  The 
writing  was  thin  as  hair,  but  the  lettering  was 
larger  than  is  usual,  abrupt  and  angular.  To 
anyone  else  it  would  have  suggested  nothing 
particular,  save,'  perhaps,  the  idea  that  it 
had  been  formed  with  the  point  of  a  tack;  but 
to  Eden  it  was  luminous  with  intimations. 
Into  the  palms  of  her  hands  came  a  sudden 
moisture,  the  color  left  her  cheeks,  for  a  sec 
ond  she  stood  irresolute,  the  envelope  in  her 
trembling  hold,  then,  as  though  coerced  by 
another  than  herself,  she  ran  to  a  bell  and 
rang  it. 

In  a  moment  the  butler  appeared.  To  con 
ceal  her  agitation  Eden  had  gone  to  the  piano. 
There  were  some  loose  sheets  of  music  on  the 


io8  Eden. 

lid  and  these  she  pretended  to  examine.     "  Is 
that  you,  Harris  ? "  she  asked,  without  turn 
ing  her  head.    "  Harris,  that  man  that  brought 
the  note  for  Mr.  Usselex  this  evening  was  the 
one  that  came  on  Monday  with  the  note  for 
Mr.  Arnswald,  was  it  not  ? " 
"  I  beg  pardon,  ma'am." 
Eden  reconstructed   the   question  and  re 
peated  it. 

"It  was  a  young  person,  ma'am,"  Harris 
answered.  "  A  lady's  maid,  most  likely.  She 
was  here  before  on  Monday  evening,  just  be 
fore  dinner,  ma'am.  She  brought  a  letter  and 
said  there  was  no  answer.  I  gave  it  to  Mr. 
Usselex." 

"  To  Mr.  Arnswald,  you  mean." 
"No,  ma'am;  it  was  for  Mr.  Usselex." 
Eden  clutched  at  the  piano.     Through  the 
sheet  of  music  which  she  held  she  saw  that 
note  again.     The  handwriting  was   identical 
with  the  one  on  the  envelope.     But  each  word 
it  contained  was  a  separate   flame,  and  each 
flame  was  burning  little  round  holes  in  her 
heart  and   eating  it  away.     It  was  very  evi 
dent  to  her  now,     She  had  been  tricked  from 


Eden.  109 

the  first.  She  had  been  lied  to  and  deceived. 
It  behooved  her  now  to  be  very  cool.  It  was 
on  business  indeed  that  he  had  left  her!  Un 
consciously  she  recalled  Mrs.  Manhattan's 
aphorism  about  business  and  other  men's 
wives,  and  to  her  mouth,  which  the  smile  had 
deserted,  came  a  sneer. 

He  is  with  her  now,  she  told  herself  ;  well, 
let  him  be.  In  a  sudden  gust  of  anger  she 
tore  the  sheet  of  music  in  two,  and  tossing  it 
from  her,  turned. 

At  the  door  the  butler  still  stood,  awaiting 
her  commands. 

"You  may  go,"  she  said,  shortly.  The 
shadow  which  twice  that  day  she  had  eluded 
was  before  her.  But  she  made  no  effort 
now  to  escape.  It  was  welcome.  She  eyed 
it  a  moment,  Her  teeth  were  set,  her  muscles 
contracted.  Then  grasping  it  as  Vulcan  did, 
she  forged  it  into  steel. 

About  her  on  either  side  were  wastes  of 
black,  and  in  the  goaf,  by  way  of  clearing,  but 
one  thing  was  discernible,  the  fealty  of  Adrian. 
To  save  her  from  pain  he  had  taken  the 
letter  on  himself;  he  had  accepted  her  con- 


no  Eden. 

tempt  that  he  might  assure  her  peace  of  mind. 
Through  the  dismal  farce  which  had  been 
played  at  her  expense  his  loyalty  constituted  the 
one  situation  which  was  deserving  of  praise. 
With  a  gesture  she  dismissed  her  husband  ;  it 
was  as  though  he  had  ceased  to  exist.  It  was 
not  him  that  she  had  espoused;  it  was  a  figure 
garbed  in  fine  words.  She  had  detected  the 
travesty,  the  mask  had  fallen,  with  the  actor 
she  was  done.  She  had  never  been  mated, 
and  now  she  was  divorced.  And  as  she 
stood,  her  hands  clenched  and  pendant,  the 
currents  of  her  thought  veering  from  master 
to  clerk,  the  portiere  furthermost  from  her  was 
drawn  aside,  the  butler  appeared  an  instant  in 
the  doorway,  he  mumbled  a  name,  Dugald 
Maule  entered  the  room,  and  the  portiere  fell 
back. 

"  I  made  sure  of  finding  you,"  he  announced 
jauntily,  as  he  approached. 

He  took  her  hand  in  his  and  raised  it  to  his 
lips.  In  his  button-hole  was  a  flower,  and  in 
his  breath  the  odor  of  Crime  de  Menthe.  It 
was  evident  that  he  had  just  dined.  "Your  man 
tells  me  that  Mr,  Usselex  is  not  at  home,"  he 


Eden.  in 

continued.  "  I  fancied  he  might  be  going  to 
the  assembly  too.  I  see  that  you  are.  You 
look  like  a  queen  of  old  time.  No,  but  you 
are  simply  stunning." 

He  stepped  back  that  he  might  the  better 
enjoy  the  effect.  Eden  had  sunk  on  the 
lounge  again.  In  and  out  from  her  skirt  a 
white  slipper,  butterflied  with  gold,  moved 
restlessly. 

"But  you  are  pale,"  he  added.  "  What  is 
it  ? "  He  had  scanned  her  face — its  pallor 
was  significant  to  him;  but  it  was  the  nervous 
ness  of  the  slipper  that  prompted  the  ques 
tion.  To  his  thinking  there  was  nothing 
more  talkative  than  the  foot  of  a  pretty 
woman. 

Eden  shrugged  her  shoulders.        "  I  didn't 
expect  you,"    she   said;  "I   am   sure  that    I 
wouldn't  have  received  you  if  I  had." 
"Ah,  that  is  hardly  gracious  now." 
"Besides,  your  reputation  is  deplorable." 
"  No  one   has  any  reputation,   nowadays," 
Maule  answered,  with  the  air  of   a  man  de 
scribing  the  state  of  the  weather.     "  You  hear 
the   most  scandalous  things  about  everyone. 


112  Eden. 

Who  has  been  talking  against  me  ?  A  woman, 
I  wager.  Do  you  know  what  hell  is  paved 
with  ? " 

"  Not  with  your  good  intentions,  I  am  posi 
tive." 

"  It  is  paved  with  women's  tongues.  That 
is  what  it  is  paved  with.  What  am  I  accused 
of  now?" 

"  As  if  I  knew  or  cared.  In  my  opinion 
you  are  depraved,  and  that  is  sufficient." 

"  Why  do  you  call  me  depraved  ?  You  are 
not  fair.  Depravity  is  synonymous  with  the 
unnatural.  Girls  in  short  frocks  don't  inter 
est  me.  Never  yet  have  I  loitered  in  the 
boudoir  of  a  cocotte.  Corydon  was  not  a 
gentleman  whom  I  would  imitate.  Neither 
was  Narcissus.  On  the  other  hand,  I  like  re 
fined  women.  I  have  an  unquestionable  ad 
miration  for  a  pretty  face.  What  man  whose 
health  is  good  has  not?  If  capacity  for 
such  admiration  constitutes  depravity,  then 
depraved  I  am."  He  paused.  "  H'm,"  he 
muttered  to  himself,  "  there's  nothing  of  the 
Joseph  about  me." 

But  he  might   have  continued    his    speech 


Eden.  11 -J 

aloud.  Eden  had  ceased  to  hear,  her  thoughts 
were  far  away.  He  looked  at  her  inquiringly. 

"  Something  is  the  matter,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  What  has  happened  ?  " 

Eden  aroused  herself  ever  so  little  from 
her  reverie.  "  Nothing,"  she  answered.  "  I 
wish  you  would  go  away." 

"  Something  is  the  matter,"  he  insisted. 
"  Tell  me  what  is  troubling  you.  Who  is 
there  to  whom  you  can  turn  more  readily 
than  to  me  ?  Eden,  you  forget  sp  easily.  For 
months  I  was  at  your  side.  And  abruptly,  a 
rumor,  a  whisper,  a  wind  that  passes  took  you 
from  me.  Eden,  /  have  not  changed.  Nor 
have  you  ceased  to  preside  over  my  life.  It 
is  idle  and  useless  enough,  I  know.  With 
your  aid  it  would  have  been  less  valueless,  I 
think;  but  such  as  it  is,  it  is  wholly  yours. 
Tell  me,  what  it  is  that  troubles  you." 

And  Eden,  influenced  either  by  the  caress 
of  the  words  or  that  longing  which  in  moments 
of  mental  anguish  forces  us  to  voice  the 
affliction,  though  it  be  but  to  a  wall,  looked  in 
his  face  and  answered: 


114.  Eden. 

"  A  hole  has  been  dug  in  my  heart,  and  in 
that  hole  is  hate." 

"  Hate  ?  Why,  hate  is  a  mediaeval  emotion; 
you  don't  know  what  it  means."  And  as  he 
spoke  he  told  himself  she  was  mad. 

"  Do  I  not  ?  Ah,  do  I  not?"  She  beat  a 
measure  on  her  knee  with  her  fingers,  and  her 
eyes  roamed  from  Maule  to  the  ceiling  and 
then  far  into  space.  "  There  is  one  whom  I 
think  of  now  ;  could  I  see  him  smitten  with 
agony  such  as  no  mortal  ever  felt  before, 
his  eyes  filled  with  spectres,  his  brain 
aflame — could  I  see  that  and  know  it  to  be 
my  work,  I  should  lie  down' glad  and  willing, 
and  die  of  delight." 

She  stood  up  and  turned  to  him  again. 
"  Do  I  not  know  what  hatred  means  ?  " 

"  Eden,  you  understand  it  so  well  that  your 
conception  of  love  must  be  clearer  still." 

"  Love,  indeed  ! "  She  laughed  disdain 
fully.  "  Why,  love  is  a  fever  that  ends  with 
a  yawn.  Love  !  Why,  men  used  to  die  of 
love.  Now  they  buy  it  as  they  buy  their  hats, 
ready-made." 

"  Then  I  am  in  that  fever  now — Hush  !  here 


Eden. 

is  your  husband.  The  tenor  wasn't  half 
bad,  I  admit.  Mr.  Usselex,  I  am  glad  to  see 
you." 

Maule  had  risen  at  Usselex's  entrance 
and  made  a  step  forward  to  greet  him.  "  I 
stopped  on  my  way  to  Delmonico's,"  he  added, 
lightly.  "  I  made  sure  you  were  both  going." 

"  Yes,"  Usselex  answered.  "  The  carriage 
is  at  the  door  now.  We  can  give  you  a  lift  if 
you  care  to." 

He  turned  to  Eden.  "  Shall  I  ring  for  your 
wrap  ?" 

For  one  second  Eden  looked  her  husband 
straight  in  the  eyes.  And  for  one  second  she 
stood  dumb,  impenetrable  as  Fate,  then  gath 
ering  the  folds  of  her  dress  in  one  hand,  she 
answered  in  a  tone  which  was  perfectly  self- 
possessed,  "  I  have  changed  my  mind,"  and 
swept  from  the  room. 

VIII. 

ON  reaching  her  room  Eden  bolted  the 
door.  The  maid  rapped,  but  she  gave  no  an 
swer.  Without  was  a  whistling  wind  that 
parodied  her  anger.  For  a  moment  she 


n6  Eden. 

looked  through  the  darkness  for  that  light 
house  which  is  Hope,  but  presumably  she 
looked  in  vain.  Then  there  came  another  rap, 
and  she  heard  her  husband's  voice.  Misery 
had  offered  her  its  arm,  and  she  was  silent. 
Her  husband  rapped  again,  entreating  speech 
with  her,  and  still  she  made  no  answer.  Pres 
ently  she  caught  the  sound  of  retreating  foot 
steps.  She  removed  the  opals,  disrobed, 
undid  her  hair,  and  accepting  the  proffered 
arm,  she  took  Misery  for  bedfellow. 

It  was  hours  before  she  slept.  But  at  last 
sleep  came.  In  its  beneficence  it  remained 
until  the  morning  had  gone;  then  at  noon-day 
it  left  her,  and  she  started  with  a  tremor  like 
to  that  which  besets  one  who  awakes  from  a 
debauch.  The  incidents  of  the  preceding 
days  paraded  with  flying  standards  before 
her.  They  were  victors  indeed.  "Vce  soli!  " 
they  seemed  to  shout.  They  had  been  piti 
less  in  their  assault,  and  now  they  exulted  at 
her  defeat.  They  jeered  at  their  captive; 
and  Eden,  with  that  obsession  which  captives 
know,  thought  only  of  release.  In  all  the 
chartless  future,  freedom  was  the  one  thing 


Eden. 

for  which  she  longed.  Her  wounds  were 
many;  they  had  depleted  her  strength;  but  in 
freedom  is  a  balm  that  cures.  Her  strength 
might  be  irrevocable  and  the  cicatrices  not 
to  be  effaced,  yet  give  her  that  balm,  and  come 
what  sorrow  could.  As  for  resignation,  the 
idea  of  it  did  not  so  much  as  visit  her. 
Resignation  is  a  daily  suicide,  and  she  had  not 
enough  to  outlast  the  night. 

The  hours  limped.  The  afternoon  was  on 
the  wane,  and  still  she  toyed  with  sorrow  until 
suddenly  she  bethought  herself  of  the  need  of 
immediate  action.  Usselex  would  presently 
return,  but  when  he  came  again  to  her  room, 
he  should  find  it  empty.  At  once,  then,  she 
made  her  preparations,  and  telling  the  startled 
maid  to  complete  them,  and  to  follow  with  the 
boxes  to  her  father's  house,  she  started  out 
on  foot,  her  wardrobe  packed,  and  ready  for 
removal. 

As  Eden  hurried  through  the  streets,  she 
was  conscious  only  that  freedom  was  her  goal. 
Everything  else  she  put  from  her.  It  was  to 
her  father  she  turned;  it  was  through  him 
that  freedom  would  be  obtained;  and  as  she 


Eden. 

hurried  she  pictured  the  indignation  with 
which  he  would  hear  her  tale.  He,  indeed, 
was  one  on  whom  she  could  lean.  Whatever 
other  men  might  be,  he,  at  least  was  above 
reproach.  Had  he  not  for  twenty  years  been 
faithful  to  a  memory.  Surely  her  mother 
when  she  lived  must  have  enjoyed  that  gift  of 
gifts,  perfect  confidence  and  trust. 

So  far  back  in  the  past  as  her  memory  ex 
tended  she  saw  him  always  considerate,  gentle 
of  manner,  courteous  to  inferiors,  deferential 
to  women,  unassuming,  and  exemplary  of  life. 
In  very  truth  there  was  none  other  in  the 
world  like  him.  And  when  at  last  she  en 
tered  his  house  she  told  herself  she  was  safe, 
and  when  the  door  closed,  that  she  was  free. 

She  knew  without  inquiry  where  to  find 
him,  and  hastened  at  once  to  the  library, 
breathless  when  she  reached  his  chair.  He 
had  been  dozing  over  a  book,  but  at  the  rustle 
of  her  gown,  he  started  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 

"  It's  good  of  you  to  come,"  he  said,  by  way 
of  greeting.  "  Why,  Eden,  I  haven't  seen  you 
for  two  days.  Sit  down  there  and  let  me  look 
at  you.  It's  odd;  I  was  going  to  you  after  the 


Eden.  n<) 

funeral.  You  know  about  General  Meredith, 
don't  you  ?  He  went  off  like  that.  He  is  to 
be  buried  this  afternoon." 

Mr.  Menemon  stood  up  and  hunted  for  a 
match  with  which  to  light  a  lamp.  "  Yes,"  he 
continued,  "  he  was  only  ill  for  twenty-four 
hours.  Think  of  that,  now  !  To  tell  you  the 
truth,  I  haven't  been  very  bright  myself.  I 
wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  it.  All  last 
winter  I  was  more  or  less  under  the  weather, 
and  for  some  time  I  have  been  planning  a  trip 
abroad.  Now  that  you  have  an  establishment 
of  your  own,  Eden,  you  won't  want  me."  And 
as  he  said  this,  he  smiled. 

"  Father,  I  have  more  need  of  you  than 
ever." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  was  jesting.  I  know 
you  will  miss  me;  but  I  will  come  back  with 
the  violets." 

He  had  succeeded  in  lighting  the  lamp  and, 
still  smiling,  he  turned  and  looked  at  her. 
"  The  father-in-law  element,"  he  continued, 
and  then  stopped  abruptly,  amazed  at  the  ex 
pression  of  his  daughter's  face.  "  What  is  it, 
Eden  ?"  he  asked  at  last. 


120  Eden. 

"  If  you  go  abroad,  I  go  with  you." 

For  a  moment  he  eyed  her,  as  though  seek 
ing,  untold,  to  divine  the  meaning  of  her 
words. 

"  Nothing  has  gone  wrong,  has  it  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  He  has  deceived  me." 

"Usselex?" 

"  Who  else  is  there  whose  deception  I 
would  notice  ? " 

"You  are  mistaken,  Eden;  it  is  my  fault; 
he  consulted  me  in  the  matter " 

"  He  consulted  you  ?  But  how  is  such  a 
thing  possible.  He  never  could  have  con 
sulted  you,  and  if  he  had  you  would  not  have 
listened." 

"Ah!  but  I  did  though.  Between  our 
selves  I  thought  it  not  uninteresting.  After 
all,  it  was  not  his  fault.  I  thought  it  unadvis- 
able  that  you  should  learn  of  it  before  mar 
riage,  and  afterwards,  well,  afterwards,  it  was 
immaterial  whether  you  did  or  whether  you 
didn't." 

"  Father,  either  it  is  not  you  that  speak,  or 
I  am  demented." 


Eden.  121 

"There,  my  dear,  don't  take  it  so  seriously. 
I  can't  call  it  an  every-day  matter,  of  course, 
but  such  things  do  happen,  and  as  I  said  be 
fore,  a  man's  a  man  for  all  of  that.  If  he  said 
nothing  it  was  because — well,  Eden,  how 
could  he  ?  Ask  yourself,  how  could  he  ?  " 

"  You  knew  of  this  before  my  marriage 
and  you  permitted  the  marriage  to  take 
place  ?  " 

"  Well — er,  yes,  Eden.  Frankly  now,  it 
was  a  difficult  matter  to  discuss  with  you. 
You  see,  it  was  this  way:  a  young  girl  like 
yourself,  brought  up  as  you  have  been,  is  apt 
to  have  prejudices  which  men  and  women  of 
the  world  do  not  always  share.  And  this  is  a 
case  in  point.  Even  now  that  you  are  mar 
ried  I  can  understand  your  disapproval, 
but " 

"  Disapproval  !  Is  that  what  you  call 
it  ?  Have  you  no  other  term  ?  Father, 
it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  worse  than 
he.  Had  anyone  told  me  that  you  could 
countenance  such  a  thing  I  would  have 
denied  his  sanity."  She  hid  her  face  in  her 
hands  and  moaned  dumbly  to  herself.  "  I 


122  Eden. 

am  desolate,"  she  murmured,  "  I  am  desolate, 
indeed." 

"  No,  Eden,  not  that,  not  that.  Eden,  listen 
to  me;  there,  if  you  only  listen  to  me  a  moment. 
Eden,  it  is  not  a  thing  that  I  countenance, 
nor  is  it  one  of  which  I  approve.  But  the 
fault  is  not  his.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  some 
women  that  such  things  should  be.  It  is  a 
thing  to  be  deplored,  to  be  overlooked.  The 
old  law  held  that  the  sins  of  the  father  should 
be  visited  on  the  son;  but  we  are  more  lib 
eral  now.  Besides,  it  is  part  of  the  past; 
what  use  is  there " 

"  Part  of  the  past  ?  I  saw  him  with  her  the 
day  before  yesterday,  and " 

"  Why,  she  is  dead." 

"  Father,  of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?  " 

"  Of  his  mother,  of  course;  and  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  speaking  of  his  mistress,  whom  he 
wishes  your  daughter  to  entertain." 

"Eden,  it  is  impossible.  I  misunderstood 
you.  What  you  say  is  absurd.  Usselex  is 
incapable  of  such  infamy." 

"He  is,  then,  and  he  has  the  capacity  to 
have  me  share  it  too," 


Eden.  123 

"But  tell  me,  what  grounds  have  you  for 
saying " 

"  On  Monday  I  was  at  the  opera.  In  the 
stalls  was  a  woman  that  stared  at  me " 

"  Many  another  I  am  sure  did  that." 

"  And  the  next  afternoon  I  saw  him  with 
her.  He  sent  me  a  note  saying  he  was  de 
tained  on  business.  When  he  returned  he 
made  some  lame  excuse,  which  I,  poor  fool, 
believed.  Previously  I  had  intercepted  a 
letter " 

"A  letter?" 

"  Yes,  a  letter  such  as  those  women  write. 
He  pretended  it  was  not  for  him,  and  for  the 
moment  I  believed  that  too.  Oh,  I  have  been 
credulous  enough." 

"  Eden,  you  must  let  it  pass." 

"Not  I." 

"Ah,  but  Eden,  you  must ;  you  must  let  it 
pass.  I  will  speak  to  Usselex." 

"  That  you  may,  of  course;  but  as  for  me,  I 
never  will." 

"  My  child,  you  are  so  wrong.  What  can  I 
say  to  you  ?  Eden — ' 

"  Father,  he  has  deceived  me.     Wantonly, 


Eden. 

grossly,  and  without  excuse.  Speak  to  him 
again,  I  never  will — " 

"  Eden—" 

" — And  if  I  ever  see  him  it  will  be  in  court. 
It  was  for  victims  like  myself  that  courts  were 
invented." 

At  this  speech  Mr.  Menemon  stood  up 
again,  and  paced  the  room;  his  head  was  bent, 
and  he  had  the  appearance  of  one  in  deep 
perplexity.  From  time  to  time  he  raised  his 
hand  and  stroked  his  back  hair.  And  as  he 
walked  Eden  continued,  but  her  tone  was 
gentler  than  before: 

"  Father,  you  can  never  know.  As  you  say, 
there  are  things  of  which  it  is  not  well  to 
speak.  But  let  me  tell  you:  In  marrying  I 
thought  my  husband  like  yourself,  one  whom 
I  could  believe,  whom  I  could  honor,  and  of 
whom  I  should  be  proud.  He  was  too  old  for 
me,  people  said.  But  my  fear  was  that  I 
should  seem  too  young  for  him.  Others  in 
sisted  that  I  knew  nothing  of  him,  and  all  the 
while  I  hoped  that  he  would  not  find  me  lack 
ing.  I  wanted  to  aid,  to  assist.  I  was  ambi 
tious.  He  seemed  possessed  of  the  fibres  of 


Eden. 

which  greatness  is  the  crown.  I  saw  before 
him  a  future,  a  career  which  history  might 
note.  I  dreamed  that  with  the  wealth  which 
he  had  acquired  and  the  power  that  was  in 
him,  he  could  win  recognition  of  men  and 
fame  of  time.  It  would  be  pleasant,  I  thought, 
to  be  the  helpmate  of  such  an  one.  How  did 
it  matter  that  he  was  an  alien  if  I  were  at 
home  with  him  ?  Father,  I  was  proud  of  him. 
I  was  glad  to  be  younger  than  he.  What  bet 
ter  guide  could  I  find  ?  Yes,  I  was  glad  of  his 
years,  for  I  had  brought  myself  to  think  that 
when  two  people  equally  young  and  equally 
favored  fall  in  love,  it  is  nature  that  is  acting 
in  them.  Whereas  I  loved  not  the  man,  but 
the  individual,  and  that,  I  told  myself,  that  is 
the  divine.  That  is  what  I  thought  before 
marriage,  and  now  I  detect  him  in  a  vulgar 
intrigue.  Is  it  not  hideous?  It  took  him  six 
months  to  walk  through  my  illusions,  and  one 
hour  to  dispel  them.  See,  I  have  nothing  left. 
Nothing,"  she  added  pensively,  "except  re 
gret." 

She   remained    silent  a   little    space,    then 
some  visitation,  of  that  renegade  Yesterday 


126  Eden. 

that  calls  himself  To-morrow,  seemed  to  stir 
her  pulse. 

"Father,"  she  pleaded,  "tell  me;  I  can  be 
free  of  him,  can  I  not?  You  will  keep  him 
from  me  ?  you  will  get  me  back  my  liberty 
again  ? " 

Mr.  Menemon  had  resumed  his  former 
place  at  the  table,  and  sat  there,  his  head  still 
bent.  But  at  this  appeal  he  looked  up  and 
nodded  abstractedly,  as  though  his  attention 
were  divided  between  her  and  someone  whom 
he  did  not  see. 

'*  You  are  overwrought,"  he  said.  "Were 
you  yourself,  you  would  not  speak  in  this  fash 
ion  about  nothing." 

A  sting  could  not  have  been  more  sudden 
in  its  effect.  She  gasped;  a  returning  gust  of 
anger  enveloped  her.  She  sprang  from  her 
seat  as  though  impelled  by  hidden  springs. 
"  Nothing?''  she  cried.  "  You  call  it  nothing 
to  unearth  a  falsehood  where  you  awaited 
truth,  treachery  where  honesty  should  be, 
deceit  instead  of  candor !  You  call  it  noth 
ing  to  harbor  a  knight  and  discover  him  a 
knave,  to  give  your  trust  unfalteringly  and 


Eden.  127 

find  that  it  has  reposed  on  lies  !  Nothing  to 
be  jockied  of  your  love,  cozened  of  your  faith! 
To  wage  a  war  with  blacklegs  and  mistake 
that  war  for  peace!  Do  you  call  it  nothing  to 
drown  a  soul,  to  make  it  a  sponge  of  shadows 
that  can  no  longer  receive  the  light?  Is  it 
nothing  to  hold  out  your  arms  and  be  em 
braced  by  Judas  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  be  loyal 
and  be  gammoned  for  your  innocence  ?  Is  it 
nothing  to  be  juggled  with,  to  be  gulled, 
cheated,  and  decoyed  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  grasp 
a  hawser  and  find  it  a  rope  of  sand  ?  To  pur 
sue  the  real  and  watch  it  turn  into  delusion  ? 
Nothing  to  see  the  promise  vanish  in  the 
hope  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  take  a  mirage  for  a 
landscape,  nothing  to  be  hoodwinked  of 
your  confidence,  to  see  high  noon  dissolve 
into  obscurest  night,  a  diamond  into  pinch 
beck  ?  Tell  me,  is  it  nothing  to  have  trust, 
sincerity,  and  love  for  heritage,  and  wake  to 
find  that  you  have  pawned  them  to  a  Jew  ?  Do 
you  think  it  nothing  to  be  mated  to  a  living 
perjury,  a  felony  in  flesh  and  blood?  Is  this 
what  you  call  nothing  ?  Is  this  it  ?  Then  tell 
me  what  something  is." 


128  Eden. 

For  a  moment  she  stared  at  her  father,  her 
lips  still  moving,  her  small  hands  clenched, 
then,  exhausted  by  the  vehemence  of  her 
speech,  she  sank  back  again  into  the  chair 
which  she  had  vacated. 

"  No,  Eden,  not  that,"  her  father  answered; 
but  he  spoke  despondently,  with  the  air  of  a 
man  battling  against  a  stream,  and  conscious 
of  the  futility  of  the  effort.  "No,  not  that;  you 
misunderstand.  I  mean  this:  you  have  con 
founded  suspicion  with  proof.  Whoever  this 
woman  is,  Usselex's  relations  with  her  may  be 
irreproachable.  Mind  you,  I  don't  say  they 
are;  I  say  they  may  be.  I  will  question  him, 
and  he  will  answer  truthfully." 

"Truthfully?  You  expect  him  to  answer 
truthfully.  In  him  nothing  is  true,  not  even 
his  lies." 

"  Eden,  I  will  question  him.  If  it  is  as  you 
expect,  he  will  tell  me  and  you  will  forgive." 

"  Forgive  ?  yes,  it  is  easy  to  forgive,  but  for 
get,  never  !  Besides,  he  will  not  tell  the  truth; 
he  will  deceive  you,  as  he  has  deceived  me/* 

"  No,  Eden,"  Mr.  Menemon  answered, 
"  you  are  wrong. '  For  a  moment  he  hesi- 


Eden.  129 

tated  and  glanced  at  her.  "  I  suppose,"  he 
continued,  "  I  may  tell  you  now.  Perhaps  it 
will  help  to  strengthen  your  confidence." 

Again  he  hesitated;  but  presently  something 
of  his  former  serenity  seemed  to  return. 
"  H'm,"  he  went  on,  "  it's  a  long  story  and  an 
odd  one.  Previous  to  your  engagement, 
Meredith  was  here.  I  wish,  instead  of  lying 
across  the  square  in  a  coffin,  he  could  be  here 
now.  However,  he  came  to  see  me  one  day. 
I  happened  to  mention  Usselex's  name,  and 
he  told  me  certain  rumors  about  him.  The  next 
afternoon  I  went  to  Usselex  on  the  subject. 
*  I  have  already  written  to  you  on  the  matter,' 
he  said;  and  sure  enough,  when  I  got  back 
here,  I  found  the  letter  waiting.  Would  you 
like  to  see  it  ?" 

Eden  tossed  her  head.  What  had  the  letter 
to  do  with  her? 

"I  will  read  it  to  you,  then." 

Mr.  Menemon  left  his  chair,  went  to  a  safe 
that  stood  in  a  corner,  unlocked  it,  and  after 
a  fumble  of  a  moment,  drew  out  a  manuscript, 
which  he  unfolded,  and  then  resumed  his  for 
mer  seat. 


fjd  Eden. 

"  It  is  not  very  long,"  he  said,  apologeti 
cally,  and  he  was  about  to  begin  to  read  it 
aloud  when  Eden  interrupted  him. 

"  Tell  me  what  is  in  it,  if  you  must !  "she  ex 
claimed  ;  "but  spare  me  his  phrases." 

She  had  risen  again  and  was  moving  rest 
lessly  about  the  room.  Her  father  coughed 
in  sheer  despair. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  it  to  you,"  he  said.  "  But 
Eden,  do  sit  down.  Do  wait  at  least  until  I 
can  give  you  the  gist  of  what  he  wrote." 

"  Go  on;  go  on.     Nothing  matters  now." 

Hesitatingly  and  unencouraged,  half  to  his 
daughter,  and  half  to  some  invisible  school 
master,  whose  lesson  he  might  have  learned 
by  rote,  Mr.  Menemon  fluttered  the  letter  and 
sought  some  prefatory  word. 

"You  see,  Eden,"  he  began,  "this  was  sent 
me  just  before  he  spoke  to  you,  and  just  after 
he  had  acquainted  me  of  his  intentions.  You 
understand  that,  do  you  not  ?  " 

"Go  on,"  she  repeated. 

"  Well,  from  what  I  had  heard,  and  what  he 
practically  substantiates  here,  Usselex  is  a 
trifle  out  of  the  common  run.  His  earliest 


Eden. 

recollections  are  of  Cornwall,  some  manufac 
turing  town  there;  let  me  see — "and  the  old 
man  fumbled  with  the  letter  and  with  his 
glasses.  "  Yes,  yes;  Market  Dipborough,  to  be 
sure.  Well,  he  was  brought  up  there  by  his 
mother,  who  was  of  Swiss  extraction,  and  by 
his  father,  who  was  at  the  head  of  a  large  shoe 
factory.  I  say  his  father  and  mother  ;  but — 
However,  he  was  brought  up  there.  Well,  to 
make  a  long  story  short,  it  appears  that  he  was 
given  a  very  good  education;  his  people  evi 
dently  were  people  of  some  means,  and  it  was 
expected  that  he  would  study  for  the  bar. 
He  was  put  at  some  public  school  or  other, 
the  name  is  immaterial,  and  when  he  was  on 
the  point  of  entering  Oxford,  the  Swiss  lady 
or  her  husband,  I  forget  which — at  any  rate, 
somebody  died.  Do  you  follow  me,  Eden  ? 
Well,  he  then  learned  that  instead  of  being 
the  son  of  the  people  by  whom  he  had  been 
brought  up,  he  was  not  their  son  at  all.  And 
now  comes  the  curious  part  of  it.  It  seems 
that  the  Swiss  lady  had  been,  in  years  gone 
by,  companion  or  governess,  or  something  of 
that  sort,  to  the  Grand-Duchess  Thyra  of 


132  Eden. 

Gothland,  who,  as  you  know,  became  the  wife 
of  the  King  of  Suabia.  She  died,  by  the 
way,  a  year  or  two  ago.  However,  the  Swiss 
lady  was  her  companion  or  something  of  the 
kind,  and  in  consequence  was  placed  in  close 
relations  with  her.  In  fact,  she  was,  I  sup 
pose,  what  you  might  call  a  confidante.  In 
any  event,  the  Grand-Duchess  happened  to 
have  for  music-teacher  a  good-looking  young 
German  who  took  her  fancy.  The  result  of  it 
all  was  that  the  Swiss  lady  agreed  to  pretend 
that  the  offspring  was  her  own,  and  was  hand 
somely  rewarded  for  her  pains.  She  left 
Gothland  with  the  child,  and  it  was  not  until 
she  died  that  Usselex  learned  that  instead  of 
being  her  son,  he  was  grandson  of  the  Em 
peror.  He  had  the  bar-sinister,  of  course,  but 
the  ancestry  was  there  all  the  same.  I  don't 
know  that  I  or  any  other  man  would  envy  him 
it;  but  perhaps  it  is  better  than  none.  How 
ever,  as  soon  as  Usselex  learned  the  facts,  he 
packed  up  and  came  over  here.  Now  you 
have  that  part  of  his  existence  in  a  nutshell. 
What  do  you  say  to  it  ?  "  And  Mr.  Menemon 


Eden. 

Coughed  again,  and  glanced  inquiringly  at  his 
daughter. 

"  I  say  he  is  so  base  I  might  have  known  he 
was  of  royal  blood." 

"Eden,  you  are  singularly  unjust." 

"  But  what  does  his  birth  matter  to  me  ?  " 
she  cried.  "  It  was  not  for  the  presence  or 
absence  of  forefathers  that  I  put  my  hand  in 
his.  It  was  for  the  man  himself,  for  what  he 
seemed  to  me,  and  when  I  find  that  I  have 
been  mistaken  in  him,  when  in  return  for 
my  love  I  get  deceit,  when  he  leaves  me  for 
another  woman,  and  has  the  infamy  to  ask  me 
to  receive  that  wroman,  then  I  say,  that  whether 
he  be  the  son  of  a  serf  or  the  son  of  a  king, 
our  ways  divide — " 

"  Eden—" 

"  Yes,  our  ways  divide." 

Urged  by  her  irritation,  she  still  paced  the 
room,  graceful  as  a  leopard  is,  and  every 
whit  as  unconstrained.  But  now,  abruptly 
she  halted  before  a  portrait  that  hung  from 
the  wall.  For  a  moment  she  gazed  at  it,  then 
pointing  to  it  with  arm  outstretched,  she 
turned. 


Edert. 

"Tell  me,"  she  asked,  her  sultry  eyes  flash 
ing  with  vistas  of  victory.  "Tell  me  how  my 
mother  would  have  acted,  had  such  an  indig 
nity  been  put  on  her.  Tell  me,"  she  re 
peated,  "  and  through  your  knowledge  of  her, 
so  will  I  act.  Yes,"  she  added,  and  then 
paused,  amazed  at  the  expression  of  her 
father's  face.  It  was  as  though  some  unseen 
hand  had  stabbed  him  from  behind.  The 
mouth  twiched  in  the  contraction  of  sudden 
pain,  the  nostrils  quivered,  and  he  bowed  his 
head;  then,  his  eyes  lowered  and  turned  from 
her,  he  answered  in  a  voice  that  trembled 
just  a  little  and  yet  was  perfectly  distinct: 

"  It  was  such  a  thing  as  this  that  marred 
your  mother's  life;  let  it  not  mar  your  own." 

For  the  moment  Eden  could  not  credit  her 
hearing.  The  words  seemed  meaningless. 
She  had  caught  them  in  a  crescendo  of 
stupor.  "  It  is  impossible,"  she  murmured. 
She  stared  at  her  father,  her  eyes  dilated,  her 
heart  throbbing,  and  every  sense  alert.  "  It  is 
impossible,"  she  repeated,  beneath  her  breath. 
And  as  she  stared,  her  father's  attitude  accen 
tuated  the  words,  reiterating  that  the  avowal 


Eden.  135 

Which  had  been  wrung  from  him  was  not  the 
impossible,  but  the  truth.  No,  there  was  no 
mistake.  She  had  heard  aright,  and  pres 
ently,  as  the  understanding  of  it  reached  her, 
she  moved  back  and  away  from  him.  For  the 
first  time  that  day  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes 
"  I  have  drunk  of  shame,"  she  sobbed;  "  now 
let  me  drink  of  death." 

IX. 

FOR  some  time  father  and  daughter  were 
silent.  Eden  suppressed  her  sob,  and  Mr. 
Menemon  fidgeted  nervously  in  his  chair. 
The  funeral  across  the  way,  he  told  himself, 
would  be  gayer  than  this,  and  for  the  mo 
ment  he  regretted  that  he  had  not  taken  time 
by  its  bang  and  gone  to  other  lands.  Grief 
was  always  distressing  to  him,  and  the  grief 
of  his  daughter  was  torment.  The  idea  that 
Usselex  had  been  derelict,  he  put  from  him. 
He  had  an  interpretation  of  his  own  for  the 
incidents  on  which  he  had  been  called  to  sit 
in  judgment.  Trivialties  such  as  they  left 
him  unaffected.  His  enervation  came  of  an 
inability  to  cope  with  Eden.  She  treated  an 


ij6  Eden. 

argument  like  a  cobweb.  And  besides,  had 
he  not  in  a  spasm  of  discouragement  disclosed 
a  secret  which  for  two  decades  he  had  kept 
close-locked  and  secure  ? 

Truly,  if  Eden  had  come  to  him  with  a  valid 
complaint,  he  would  have  taken  arms  in  an 
instant.  He  was  by  no  means  one  to  suffer 
a  child  of  his  to  be  treated  with  contumely. 
The  bit  of  lignum  vitae  which  served  him  for 
a  heart  was  all  in  all  for  her.  A  real  griev 
ance  would  have  enraged  him  more  than  any 
one  else.  In  spite  of  his  apparent  indiffer 
ence  there  was  much  of  the  she-wolf  in  his 
nature.  He  would  have  fought  for  Eden,  he 
would  have  growled  over  her,  and  shown  his 
false  teeth  at  any  assailant  that  might  happen 
that  way.  But  of  danger  there  was  not  a 
trace.  Listen  as  he  might  he  could  not  catch 
the  faintest  rumor  of  advancing  foes.  And 
because  she  had  met  her  husband  in  the 
street,  because  a  woman  had  stared  at  her  and 
some  idiotic  note  had  coine  into  her  hands, 
high-noon  must  change  to  night,  and  laugh 
ter  into  tears. 

"She  is  her  mother  all  over  again,"  the  old 


Eden. 

gentleman  muttered.  And  in  his  discomfiture 
he  regretted  the  funeral,  the  confidence  that 
he  had  made,  and  fidgeted  nervously  in  his 
chair. 

And  as  he  fidgeted,  glancing  obliquely  the 
while  at  his  daughter,  and  engrossed  in  the 
torturing  pursuit  of  some  plea  that  should  show 
her  she  erred,  and  bring  her  to  her  senses 
again,  Eden's  earlier  griefs  crackled  like  last 
year's  leaves.  In  this  new  revelation  they 
seemed  dead  indeed.  Of  her  mother  she  had 
not  the  faintest  recollection;  but  there  had 
been  moments  when  a  breath,  a  perfume, 
something  which  she  had  just  read,  a  sudden 
strain,  the  intoning  of  a  litany,  an  interior 
harmony  perhaps,  or  an  emotion,  had  brought 
to  her  a  whisper,  the  sound  of  her  own  name; 
and  with  it  for  one  second  would  come  the 
shadowy  reminiscence  of  an  anterior  caress. 
For  a  second  only  would  it  remain  with  her, 
departing  as  abruptly  as  it  had  come,  but 
leaving  her  to  stroll  for  hours  thereafter 
through  lands  where  dreams  come  true. 
And  at  such  times  she  was  wont  to  feel  that 
could  she  but  clutch  that  fleeting  second  and 


Eden. 

detain  it  long  enough  to  catch  one  further 
glimpse  of  the  past,  the  key  of  memory  would 
be  in  it,  and  the  past  unlocked.  But  that  sec 
ond  was  never  to  be  detained;  it  was  from  her 
father  only  that  she  was  able  to  learn  some 
thing  of  that  which  was  nearest  to  her  heart, 
and  again  and  again  she  had  sat  with  him 
listening  to  anecdotes,  absorbing  repetitions 
and  familiar  details  with  a  renascent  interest 
and  a  delight  that  no  other  chronicles  could 
arouse.  On  the  subject  of  her  mother  she 
had  indeed  been  insatiable;  she  had  wished  to 
know  everything,  even  to  the  gowns  she  pre 
ferred  and  the  manner  in  which  she  had  ar 
ranged  her  hair;  and  her  father  had  taken 
evident  pleasure  in  telling  of  one  who  had 
been  wife  to  him  and  mother  to  her,  and 
whose  life  she  now  learned  for  the  first 
time  he  had  marred. 

Mr.  Menemon  meanwhile  was  still  in  pur 
suit  of  the  plea;  but  nothing  of  any  cogency 
presented  itself.  In  truth  he  had  builded 
better  than  he  knew.  Anger  burns  itself  out; 
already  its  force  was  spent,  and  the  revelation 
he  had  made  had  affected  his  daughter  like  a 


Eden. 

douche.  In  his  ignorance,  however,  the 
safest  and  surest  course  that  occurred  to  him 
was  to  hold  his  tongue,  send  for  Usselex,  and 
leave  him  to  settle  the  matter  as  best  he 
might.  This  course  he  was  about  to  adopt, 
and  he  got  out  some  paper  preparatory  to 
wording  the  message  when  a  servant  ap 
peared  with  a  card  on  a  tray. 

He  picked  it  up,  glanced  at  it,  and  then 
over  at  his  daughter.  She  was  still  leaning 
against  the  book-case,  her  back  was  turned, 
and  her  face  hidden  in  her  arms.  It  seemed 
probable  to  him  that  she  was  unaware  of  the 
servant's  presence. 

"  Very  good,"  he  murmured,  and  motioned 
the  man  away.  Again  he  glanced  at  his 
daughter,  but  she  had  not  moved,  and  noise 
lessly,  that  he  might  not  disturb  her,  he  left 
the  room. 

Eden  indeed  had  heard  nothing.  The  rev 
elation  had  been  benumbing  in  its  unexpect 
edness,  and  as  she  leaned  against  the  book 
case,  an  immense  pity  enveloped  her,  and  she 
forgot  her  sorrow  and  herself.  Her  own  dis 
tress  was  trivial  perhaps  in  comparison  to 


140  Eden. 

what  her  mother  had  suffered,  and  yet  surely 
her  father  had  repented.  As  she  entered  the 
house  had  she  not  told  herself  that  for  twenty 
years  he  had  been  faithful  to  a  memory.  So 
far  back  as  she  could  remember,  she  had  seen 
him  compassionate  of  others,  striving,  it  may 
be,  through  the  exercise  of  indulgence  to  earn 
some  little  of  it  for  himself.  And  should  she 
refuse  it  now  ?  He  had  grieved;  the  stamp  of 
it  was  on  his  face.  She  needed  no  one  to  re 
mind  her  of  that,  and  that  grief  perhaps  had 
effaced  the  fault.  And  if  his  fault  was  efface- 
able,  might  not  her  husband's  be  effaceable  as 
well  ?  If  he  would  but  come  to  her  and  let 
her  feel  that  this  misstep  was  one  that  he  re 
gretted,  she  might  yet  forgive.  It  was  as  good 
to  forgive  as  it  was  to  forget;  and  how  beauti 
ful  the  future  still  might  be  ! 

The  indignation  which  had  glowed  so 
fiercely  subsided;  one  by  one  the  sparks 
turned  grey;  the  last  one  wavered  a  little  and 
then  disappeared.  She  turned,  her  sultry  eyes 
still  wet,  to  where  her  father  had  sat.  And  as 
she  turned  Mr.  Menemon  reentered  the 
room,  She  made  no  effort  to  account  for  his 


Eden.  141 

absence;  she  was  all  in  all  in  her  present  idea, 
and  she  went  forward  to  him  at  once. 

"  Did  she  forgive  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Who  ?  " 

"My  mother." 

Mr.  Menemon  made  no  answer,  but  his 
face  spoke  for  him. 

"  Then  I  will,"  she  cried,  and  wound  her 
arms  about  his  neck.  "  I  will  forgive  you  for 
her." 

"  There  is  another  whom  you  must  forgive 
as  well,"  he  answered,  gently. 

"  But  you  assured  me  he  had  done  no 
wrong." 

"  Nor  has  he,  I  think."  He  hesitated  a 
second.  "Come  down-stairs,  '  he  added;  "we 
can  discuss  it  better  there."  And  taking  her 
hand  in  his  he  led  her  from  the  room. 

On  reaching  the  parlor  below,  he  drew  the 
portiere  aside  that  she  might  pass,  and  then, 
as '-they  say  in  France,  he  eclipsed  himself. 
Eden  entered  unattended.  Her  father,  she 
supposed,  was  following  her,  and  she  was 
about  to  address  some  remark  to  him,  when 


Eden. 

before  her,  in  the  dim  light  of  twin  candela- 
bras,  she  perceived  her  husband. 

Usselex  was  standing  bolt  upright,  in  the 
position  of  one  who  has  come  not  to  render 
accounts,  but  to  demand  them.  In  his  attitude 
there  was  nothing  of  the  repentant  sinner, 
and  at  sight  of  him  Eden  felt  herself  tricked. 
She  turned  in  search  of  her  father,  but  he  had 
gone.  Then,  seeing  herself  deserted,  and  yet 
disdaining  retreat,  she  summoned  the  princess 
air  which  was  ever  at  her  bidding,  and  crossed 
the  room. 

"  Why  have  you  left  the  house  ?  "  he  began, 
abruptly. 

To  this  Eden  made  no  answer.  She  low 
ered  the  yellow  shade  of  one  candle  and 
busied  herself  with  another. 

"  Why  did  you  leave  me  last  night  ? "  he 
continued.  And  as  she  made  no  reply, 
"  Why,"  he  asked,  "  why  are  you  here  ?  " 

But  still  she  was  silent.  To  his  questions 
she  was  dumb.  It  was  as  though  she  had 
shut  some  door  between  him  and  her. 

"Will  you  not  speak?"  he  muttered. 

And  then,  for  the  first  time,  she  looked  up  at 


Eden.  143 

him,  measuring  him  as  it  were  with  one  chill 
glance  from  head  to  heel.  "  If  I  remember 
rightly,"  she  said,  from  the  tips  of  her  lips, 
''you  left  me  for  your  mistress." 

"  It  is  false "  Usselex  exclaimed.  Pre 
sumably  he  was  about  to  make  further  pro 
test,  but  the  portiere  was  drawn  aside  and  he 
was  interrupted. 

X. 

As  IT  afterwards  appeared,  Dugald  Maule, 
on  leaving  the  Usselex  house  the  preceding 
evening,  had  gone  directly  to  the  Assembly. 
On  arriving,  he  went  up  through  the  ferns  to 
the  vestiary,  left  his  coat  and  hat,  and  while 
putting  on  his  gloves,  gazed  down  from  the 
balcony  which  Lander  occupies  to  the  ball 
room  below. 

A  quadrille  was  in  progress;  a  stream  of 
willowy  girls,  fresh  for  the  better  part,  well- 
dressed  and  exceptionally  plain,  were  moving 
about  the  floor.  They  seemed  serene  and 
stupid,  chattering  amiably  through  pauses  of 
the  dance;  and  beneath,  on  the  dais,  Maule 
divined  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Manhattan, 
Mrs.  Hackensack,  Mrs,  Bouvery,  the  Coen- 


144  Eden. 

ties,  and  other  ladies  of  maturer  years.  He 
was  sure  they  were  smiling  and  fanning  them 
selves.  They  always  were.  And  presently, 
when  his  gloves  were  buttoned,  he  fell  to 
wondering  what  he  was  doing  there.  The 
incidents  of  the  evening  had  supplied  him 
with  a  quantum  of  thought  which  he  had 
no  desire  to  dispense  in  platitude.  He  was 
not  at  all  in  a  mood  to  mingle  with  those 
whose  chiefest  ambition  was  to  be  ornate.  In 
another  minute  he  recovered  his  coat,  and  to 
the  surprise  of  the  door-keeper  went  down 
through  the  ferns  again.  In  the  memory  of 
man  no  one  before  had  ever  come  to  a  sub 
scription-ball  and  deserted  it  two  minutes 
later.  He  must  be  ill,  Johnson  reflected,  and 
went  on  collecting  tickets. 

Maule,  however,  was  not  in  any  sense  indis 
posed,  and  as  evidence  of  it  he  walked  far  up 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  on  through  the  outskirts  of 
the  Park.  It  was  his  intention,  self-avowed 
and  dominant,  that  he  would  come  to  some 
decision  in  regard  to  Eden  before  that  walk 
was  done. 

Like   many   another   before   and  since,  he 


Eden.  145 

found  his  brain  most  active  when  his  legs 
were  in  motion.  In  working  up  a  case  for  a 
client,  many  a  time  during  an  entire  day  he  had 
reviewed  dust-bound  books  of  yellow  hue,  but 
the  one  point,  the  clinching  argument  that 
was  to  arrest  attention  and  win  the  cause, 
came  to  him  in  the  exhilaration  of  the  open 
air.  The  inspiration  that  was  to  coordinate 
conflicting  data  rarely  visited  him  at  his  desk. 
It  was  in  the  fatigue  of  the  flesh  that  his 
mind  became  clairvoyant.  It  was  then  that 
he  found  the  logic  for  his  brief.  And  on  this 
particular  evening,  as  he  strode  along  he  kept 
telling  himself  that  in  all  his  practice  there  had 
been  nothing  to  him  as  important  as  this.  It 
was  his  own  case  that  he  was  preparing;  and 
did  it  result  in  failure,  how  could  he  venture 
to  undertake  one  in  which  the  interest  would 
be  feigned  and  the  recompense  coin  ?  If  he 
could  not  plead  his  own  case  and  win,  then 
might  he  take  his  shingle  down. 

The  facts,  such,  at  least,  as  they  appeared 
to  him,  were  evangelical  in  their  simplicity. 
Here  was  a  girl  who  had  given  him  her 
heart's  first  love,  a  girl  who  had  exalted  him 


Eden. 

into  an  ideal,  and  then,  suspecting  him  of  infi 
delity  to  her,  had  married  the  next  comer  out 
of  pique.  No  sooner  did  he  have  a  chance  of 
exchanging  speech  with  her  than  she  con 
fessed  that  she  hated  her  husband. 

"Now,"  he  reflected,  "when  a  woman  takes 
a  man  sufficiently  into  her  confidence  to  ad 
mit  that  she  hates  her  husband,  that  admission 
is  tantamount  to  an  avowal  of  love  for  him. 
Such  admission  she  has  made  to  me.  Noth 
ing  conceivable  could  have  been  more  explicit 
than  her  words."  And  at  the  memory  of 
them  he  nodded  sagaciously  to  himself.  "No 
other  girl,"  he  continued,  "  no  other  in  all  the 
world,  is  as  desirable  as  she.  St.  Denis  would 
have  hypothecated  his  aureole  to  possess  her. 
As  I  sat  with  her  to-night  I  felt  mediaeval 
from  ears  to  heel.  If  our  age  were  a  century 
or  two  younger  I  would  have  carried  her  off 
to  a  crenelated  castle,  let  down  the  draw 
bridge,  and  defied  the  law.  But  my  apart 
ment  in  the  Cumberland  is  hardly  a  donjon;  a 
hansom  is  not  a  vehicle  suited  to  an  elope 
ment;  Lochinvar  is  out  of  fashion;  and  besides, 
she  would  not  have  gone.  No,  she  would  not 


Eden.  147 

have  gone;  so  the  other  objections  are  imma 
terial.  But  then,  there  are  girls  who  will  not  go 
at  the  asking,  but  who  will  come  without  insti 
gation.  And  Eden,  I  take  it,  is  one  of  them. 
It  was  six  months  before  she  would  so  much  as 
let  me  touch  the  tips  of  her  fingers;  she  was 
afraid  of  a  kiss  as  of  a  bee;  and  at  the  very 
moment  when  I  had  given  her  up  she  threw 
herself  in  my  arms:  it  is  true,  she  never  re 
peated  the  performance,  which  was  a  pity; 
though  had  it  not  been  for  that  little  affair  of 
mine,  we  should  in  all  probability  be  man  and 
wife  to-night.  After  all,  it  is  for  the  best,  I  sup 
pose."  And  again  he  nodded  sagaci6usly. 

"Yes,"  he  repeated,  "it  is  for  the  best. 
Someone  —  Shakspere,  Martin  Luther,  Tup- 
per,  or  Chauncey  Depew — said  that  there 
were  some  good  marriages,  but  none  that 
were  delicious;  and  I  daresay  that  whoever 
said  it  was  right.  Yes,  certainly  it  is  for  the 
best.  It  may  be  sweet  and  decorous,  as  I  used 
to  write  in  my  copy-book,  to  die  for  one's  na 
tive  land  ;  but  I  will  be  shot  if  it  is  sweet  and 
decorous  to  marry  for  it.  And  practically 
that  is  what  it  amounts  to.  Men  marry  for 


14-8  Eden. 

the  sake  of  others,  rarely  for  their  own,  and 
as  for  women,  whatever  their  reasons  may  be, 
plaudite  sed  cavite,  cives!  Eden,  I  am  positive, 
married  out  of  pique.  It  is  nonsense  to  think 
that  she  could  have  any  large  affection  for  a 
man  twice  her  age;  and  now  that  she  is  not 
only  tired  of  him,  but  hates  him  to  boot,  he 
ought  to  be  gentlemanly  enough  not  to  play 
the  dog  in  the  manger.  No,  it  isn't  that.  I 
will  admit  that  he  is  well  enough  in  his  way, 
provided  that  way  is  out  of  mine.  The 
difficulty  is  that  he  doesn't  seem  to  keep  out 
of  hers.  Major  premiss,  then — Eden  hates 
Usselex.  Minor  premiss — Usselex  keeps  her 
from  me.  Ergo.  Eliminate  Usselex,  and  she 
is  mine.  The  logic  of  that  is  admirable;  the 
only  fault  with  it  is  that  it  doesn't  give  a  hint 
as  to  the  manner  in  which  Usselex  is  to  be 
eliminated.  He  may  eliminate  himself,  it  is 
true  ;  but  that  is  a  possibility  that  it  is  hardly 
worth  while  to  count  on.  And,  meanwhile,  I 
know  Eden  well  enough  to  be  aware  that 
until  he  does  she  will  decline  to  listen  to 
me." 

Maule  had  reached  the  upper  part  of  the 


Eden. 

Avenue.  The  night  was  chill  and  clear  as  our 
December  nights  are  apt  to  be.  There  was  a 
foretaste  of  snow  in  the  air,  and  in  that  fore 
taste  a  tonic.  And  suddenly  the  cathe 
dral  loomed,  huge,  yet  unsteepled,  as  though 
the  designers  had  lost  heart  in  its  carcass  and 
faith  as  well.  The  sky  seemed  remote  and 
unneighborly.  In  the  background  the  moon 
glinted  in  derision,  and  directly  overhead  was 
a  splatter  of  callous  stars. 

The  scene  did  not  divert  the  channel  of  his 
thoughts.  He  walked  steadily  on,  leaving  be 
hind  him  the  dogma  that  time  had  fossilized 
and  man  had  forgot.  He  was  indifferent  to 
creeds.  The  apathy  of  the  stars  told  him 
nothing  of  worlds  to  which  our  own  is  un 
known.  In  the  derision  of  the  moon  he  did 
not  see  the  sneer  of  a  sphere  that  is  dead 
The  foretaste  of  snow  in  the  air  brought  him 
no  memory  of  the  summer  that  had  gone,  and 
when  he  reached  the  park  the  leafless  trees 
that  spring  would  regarment  left  him  unim 
pressed.  The  identity  of  birth  and  death,  the 
aimlessness  of  all  we  undertake,  were  matters 
to  which  he  had  never  given  a  thought.  And 


Eden. 

had  the  beggar  who  presently  accosted  him 
been  a  thinker  capable  of  explaining  that  life 
is  an  exhalation,  that  we  respire,  aspire,  and  ex 
pire,  unconscious  as  is  the  tree  of  the  futility  of 
it  all,  Dugald  Maule  would  have  dismissed  him 
with  the  same  indifferent  shrug.  He  was  in 
stinct  with  aims  that  end  with  self.  His  mind 
was  centered  on  Eden,  and  until  he  solved 
the  problem  she  had  suggested,  he  had  no 
thought  of  time  that  life  devours  or  of  time 
that  devours  life. 

And  as  he  tried  to  devise  some  form  of 
campaign,  suddenly  he  was  visited  by  an  idea 
which  he  grasped  and  detained.  It  was,  that 
if  Eden  hated  her  husband  a  cause  for  that 
hatred  must  exist,  and  could  he  but  discover 
it  he  would  then  have  something  tangible 
wherewith  to  work.  Certainly,  he  told  him 
self,  it  could  not  be  money;  nor  did  Usselex 
look  like  a  man  that  drank.  "  I  wonder,"  he 
mused,  "  whether  it  can  be  that  he  treats  her 
badly.  H'm.  I  know  very  little  about 
Usselex.  He  may  be  Chesterfield  one  hour 
and  Sykes  the  next.  There  are  plenty  of 
men  of  that  stamp.  If  he  is,  that  poor  little 


Eden.  151 

thing  deserves  consolation.  No,  it  can  hardly 
be  that — Eden  is  too  high-spirited  to  submit 
to  brutality.  She  would  leave  him  at  once, 
and  everyone  would  approve.  Whereas,  if 
Usselex  has  got  himself  entangled  by  some 
woman,  Eden,  out  of  sheer  pride,  would  remain 
where  she  is.  Nothing  can  be  more  galling 
than  the  pity  which  is  manifested  for  a  woman 
whose  husband  disports  himself  abroad.  It 
is  shameful,  the  world  says;  and  inwardly  the 
world  thinks,  when  a  woman  wins  a  man  and 
fails  to  hold  him,  the  fault  is  not  his,  but  hers. 
Eden  understands  that,  of  course,  and  if  there 
is  a  woman  in  the  matter,  that  is  the  reason 
why  she  continues  to  reside  on  the  sunnyside 
of  Fifth  Avenue.  But  then,  it  may  not  be 
that.  I  may  be  miles  away.  Though  if  it  is, 
nothing  could  be  more  favorable.  It  would 
be  becoming  of  Eden  to  keep  her  misfortune 
to  herself,  but  it  would  be  unwomanly  on  her 
part  not  to  desire  revenge  ;  and  what  better 
revenge  could  she  have  against  the  man  whom 
she  married  out  of  pique  than  in  the  arms 
of  the  man  by  whom  that  pique  was  ex 
cited  ?  But,  bah  !  All  this  is  pure  con- 


152  Eden. 

jecture.  I  haven't  a  fact  to  go  on.  I  know 
little  or  nothing  of  Usselex,  and  I  doubt  very 
much  whether  Eden  would  be  willing  to  sup 
ply  me  with  any  information.  The  only  thing 
for  me  to  do  is  to  cull  a  few  facts,  season 
them  to  suit  her  taste,  and  serve  hot.  At  this 
stage  a  false  step  would  be  fatal.  I  must  be 
careful  of  my  cookery.  To-morrow,  in  -the 
absence  of  facts,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  in  the 
way  of  condiments;  et  alors,  en  route  pour 
Cytherer 

So  mused  Mr.  Maule;  then,  having  reached 
the  end  of  his  tether,  he  turned  back  again  in 
the  direction  of  his  home. 

The  next  morning,  however,  the  plan  of 
campaign  which  he  had  been  devising  was  not 
a  whit  more  tangible  to  him  than  it  had  been 
during  his  midnight  stroll.  He  drank  some 
coffee  hopefully,  and  tried  to  lose  himself  in  a 
damp  copy  of  the  Times.  But  in  vain.  The  cof 
fee  brought  him  no  comfort,  and  through  the 
columns  of  the  paper  came  the  sultriness  of 
Eden's  eyes.  The  obituary  of  a  famous  gen 
eral  failed  to  detain  his  attention.  The  in 
telligence  that  an  emperor  was  moribund  lent 


Eden.  ijj 

no  zest  to  the  day.  Mechanically  his  eyes 
scanned  the  Court  Calendar;  a  case  in  which 
he  was  to  appear  was  numbered  therein,  but 
he  let  it  pass  unnoticed.  And  presently,  find 
ing  himself  occupied  in  memorizing  the  adver 
tisement  of  a  new  soap,  he  tossed  the  paper 
from  him  and  started  on  his  way  down  town. 

It  was  late  when  he  reached  his  office.  In 
the  corner  of  the  room  a  fat  little  man  sat 
patiently  twirling  his  thumbs,  and  on  a  desk 
were  a  number  of  letters. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  Maule  asked.  His 
voice  was  gruff  and  inhospitable. 

The  fat  little  man  started,  and  then  fumbled 

in  a  pocket.  "  Dere  was  dot  morhgige " 

he  began. 

"  Come  again,  then,"  Maule  interrupted;  "  I 
am  busy." 

'•  Dot  morhgige — "  the  little  man  persisted. 

"  Go  to  hell  with  your  mortgage,"  Maule 
shouted,  and  slammed  a  door  in  his  face. 

This  rite  accomplished,  he  felt  better.  The 
brutality  which  he  had  displayed  to  the  cor 
pulent  dwarf  pleasured  him.  He  only  re 
gretted  that  the  man  had  not  insisted  further, 


Eden. 

that  he  might  have  kicked  him  down  the 
stairs.  What  was  a  mortgage  to  him,  forsooth, 
when  he  had  Eden  for  a  goal  ?  The  episode, 
trivial  though  it  was,  had  stirred  his  pulse  and 
left  the  effect  of  a  tonic.  He  smiled,  and 
opened  his  letters.  As  he  read  them  his  clerk 
appeared.  With  him  he  consulted  for  a 
minute  and  then  started  for  court.  On  his 
return  there  was  the  little  fat  man  again,  and 
beating  a  tatoo  on  the  window  was  Reginald 
Maule,  ex-Minister  to  France. 

"Well,  Uncle  Regy,"  he  exclaimed,  "how 
are  you  ?  Mr.  Driscoll,"  he  called  out  to  the 
clerk,  "  attend  to  that  Dutch  beast,  will  you  ? 
Uncle  Regy,  step  this  way." 

He  led  Mr.  Maule  into  the  inner  office  and 
graciously  accepted  a  cigar.  He  was  in  great 
good-humor  again.  While  in  court  a  lumin 
ous  idea  had  visited  him,  a  plan  of  campaign 
which  he  proposed  to  elaborate  at  his  ease. 
It  was  alluring  as  spring,  and  instinct  with 
promises  of  success.  Already  he  roamed  in 
dreams  forecast. 

"  Dugald,"  the  uncle  began,  "  I  did  not  see 
you  at  the  Matriarch's,  last  night," 


Eden.  755 

Until  recently  Maule  had  not  seen  his 
uncle  for  several  years.  But  during  these 
years  the  uncle  had  not  changed.  He  had 
the  same  agreeable  manner,  the  same  way  of 
seating  himself,  the  same  sarcastic  fold  about 
his  lips  which  Maule  remembered  of  old. 
Even  the  cut  of  his  waistcoat  was  unaltered. 
Apparently  nothing  had  happened  to  him;  he 
had  contented  himself  with  continuing  to  be. 

"  No,"  the  nephew  answered,  and  flicked 
the  ashes  from  his  cigar.  "  No,  something 
else  turned  up  and " 

"  Exactly.  If  I  had  met  you  there  I  should 
not  have  come  here.  Now,  I  want  a  word 
with  you  in  regard  to  the  estate.  Are  you 
busy?"  And  the  ex-Minister  settled  himself 
in  his  chair  with  the  air  of  a  man  confident 
that,  whatever  else  might  demand  attention, 
his  own  affairs  would  take  precedence. 

Thereupon,  for  some  little  time,  nephew 
and  uncle  discussed  matters  of  personal  and 
common  interest;  and  when  at  last  these  mat 
ters  had  been  satisfactorily  determined,  the 
afternoon  had  begun  to  wane.  At  last  the 
ex-Minister  stood  up  to  go, 


ij6  Eden. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  his  hand  on  the 
door,  "  who  was  it  that  Petrus  Menemon's 
daughter  married?  I  looked  for  her  last 
night.  When  I  saw  her  at  the  opera  I  could 
have  sworn  it  was  her  mother.  Same  type, 
same  eyes,  same  carriage  of  the  head.  She 
made  me  feel  twenty  years  younger,  I  give 
you  my  word  she  did." 

"  She  is  pretty,"  Maule  answered,  neg 
ligently. 

"  Pretty  ?  She  is  more  intoxicating  than 
the  dream  of  a  fallen  angel.  She  is  better 
looking  than  her  mother.  Hum,  hum.  You 
don't  see  such  women  in  France.  What  did 
you  say  her  name  is  ?  " 

"  She  married  a  man  named  Usselex." 

"  Usselex  ?     What  Usselex  ?  " 

"  What  Usselex  I  can't  tell  you.  But  there 
seems  to  be  only  one,  and  she  caught  him. 
He  has  more  money  than  Incoul,  Jerolomon, 
and  Bleecker  Bleecker  put  together.' 

"  You  don't  mean  John  Usselex,  the 
banker  ? " 

"Oh,  but  I  do,  though." 

The    ex-Minister    opened    the    door    and 


Eden.  157 

looked  out  into  the  outer  room,  then,  assured 
that  no  one  was  listening,  he  resumed  his  for 
mer  seat,  crossed  his  legs,  and  meditatively 
beat  his  knee.  In  his  face  was  an  expression 
which  a  psychologist  would  have  admired,  a 
commingling  of  the  vatic  and  the  amused, 
accentuated  by  sarcasm. 

"Well,  what  of  it?"  Maule  asked  shortly, 
perplexed  at  the  mummery. 

The  ex-Minister  leaned  forward  and  for 
four  or  five  minutes  addressed  his  nephew  in 
a  monotone.  As  he  spoke  Maule's  perplexity 
changed  to  surprise,  then  to  bewilderment, 
and  ultimately  into  jubilation.  "Are  you 
positive  of  this?"  he  exclaimed.  "  Tell  me 
that  you  are.  You  must  be  positive  !  " 

"  I  give  you  the  facts — 

"I  am  off,  then;"  and  he  sprang  from  his 
seat.  "  I  haven't  a  minute  to  lose,"  he  added; 
and  taking  his  uncle  by  the  arm  he  led  him 
from  the  office. 

In  the  outer  room  the  corpulent  dwarf  still 
sat.  "  Dere  was  dot  morhgige — ''  he  stam 
mered. 

"  Accepted, '  Maule  shouted,  and  turned  to 


158  Eden. 

the  clerk.  "  Look  over  the  papers,  will  you  ? 
If  they  are  right,  get  a  check  ready.  As  for 
you,  my  slim  friend,"  he  said  to  the  German, 
"  remember  that  business  men  have  business 
hours."  And  laughing  as  though  he  had  said 
something  insultingly  original,  he  hurried 
down  the  stairs,  and  jumping  into  a  hansom, 
he  presently  rolled  up  town. 

In  a  trifle  over  half  an  hour  he  was  at 
Eden's  door.  "  There  is  no  time  like  the 
present,"  he  told  himself,  as  he  rang  the 
bell.  But  when,  in  answer  to  his  ring,  a  ser 
vant  appeared,  he  learned  that  Eden  was  not 
at  home. 

"Does  Mrs.  Usselex  dine  out,  do  you 
know  ?  "  Maule  asked. 

"I  don't  think  Mrs.  Usselex'  is  coming 
back,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

"  You  mean  that  Mrs.  Usselex  will  not  re 
turn  until  late,  I  suppose." 

To  this  the  man  made  no  reply ;  he 
scratched  the  end  of  his  nose  reflectively.  In 
his  face  was  an  expression  that  arrested 
Maule's  attention. 


Eden. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  asked,  a  sudden 
suspicion  entering  his  mind. 

But  still  the  man  made  no  answer.  He 
raised  his  arms,  the  elbows  crooked,  and 
assumed  the  appearance  of  an  idiot. 

"It  is  worth  five  dollars,"  Maule  continued. 
"Here  they  are;"  and  with  that  he  extended 
a  bill  of  the  nation,  which  the  servant  took, 
and  then,  glancing  over  his  shoulder,  whis 
pered: 

"  Mrs.  Usselex  has  gone  to  her  father's, 
sir.  I  distrust  something's  hup." 

"  That  man  ought  to  be  dismissed,"  Mauie 
decided,  as  he  hurried  down  the  steps.  *'  I 
say,  cabby,"  he  called  to  the  hansom;  "Sec 
ond  Avenue  and  Stuyvesant  Square." 

"  Damn  it  all,"  he  muttered,  as  he  seated 
himself  in  the  vehicle.  "  I  am  afraid  I  am 
late  for  the  ball." 

It  took  the  hansom  but  a  few  minutes  to 
reach  its  destination,  and  presently  the  door 
of  Mr.  Menemon's  house  was  opened.  As 
Maule  entered  he  caught  the  sound  of  Eden's 
voice,  "  I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Usselex/'  he 


160  Eden. 

said,  and  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  he 
pushed  the  portiere  aside. 

"It  is  false,"  he  heard  Usselex  exclaim. 

For  a  second  Maule  hesitated.  He  would 
have  preferred  to  have  found  Eden  alone. 
Indeed,  the  possibility  of  encountering  her 
husband  had  not  occurred  to  him;  but  he  felt 
that  it  was  too  late  to  recede,  and  visited  by 
that  prescience  which  comes  to  the  alert,  he 
divined  that  the  blow  which  he  intended  to 
strike  must  be  struck  then  or  never.  He  let 
the  portiere  fall,  and  taking  his  courage  in  both 
hands,  he  stepped  forward.  As  he  did  so, 
Eden,  in  annoyance  at  the  intrusion,  moved 
back,  and  Usselex,  with  a  query  on  his  tongue, 
turned  to  him  But  before  the  latter  could 
frame  his  words,  Maule  had  spoken. 

"  Mr.  Usselex,"  he  said,  with  the  air  of  one 
ventilating  a  conventional  platitude,  "  are  you 
aware  that  a  man  who  insults  a  woman  is  a 
coward  ? " 

At  this  speech  Eden's  hands  fluttered  like 
falling  leaves;  she  made  as  would  she  speak, 
but  Usselex  motioned  to  her  to  be  silent,  and 
flicking  a  speck  of  dust  from  his  sleeve  as 


Eden.  i6t 

though  the  speck  represented  the  reproof,  he 
answered  in  a  tone  as  conventional  as  Maule's. 
"  And  are  you  aware,  sir,  that  a  man  who  per 
mits  himself  to  interfere  between  husband 
and  wife  is — " 

But  whatever  he  may  have  intended  to  say, 
the  sentence  remained  unfinished.  Maule 
did  not  wait  for  its  completion.  He  advanced 
yet  nearer  to  where  Usselex  stood,  he  looked 
him  in  the  face,  and  without  raising  his 
voice,  he  said-  "This  lady,  Mr,  Usselex,  is 
not  your  wife,  nor  are  you  her  husband." 
Then,  turning  to  Eden,  he  added  with  the 
grace  of  a  knight-errant,  "  Miss  Menemon, 
allow  me  to  present  my  congratulations," 

The  old  legends  tell  of  disputants  ossified 
by  one  glance  of  Jove's  avenging  stare1,  and 
when  Maule  made  his  melodramatic  an 
nouncement,  both  Usselex  and  Eden  stood 
transfixed  and  motionless  with  surprise.  Of 
the  little  group  Maule  alone  preserved  any 
semblance  of  animation.  The  palms  of  his 
hands  were  moist,  and  he  felt  unable  to  control 
one  of  the  muscles  of  his  face.  But  his 
emotion  was  not  apparent.  Outwardly  he 


l62  Eden. 

was  perfectly  self-possessed,  and  admonished 
by  that  instinct  which  at  times  warns  us  that 
every  trace  of  feeling  should  be  disguised,  he 
succeeded  in  heightening  the  illusion  by 
means  of  his  moustache,  to  which  he  pro 
ceeded  to  give  a  negligent  twirl. 

And  as  he  twirled  it  Eden  seemed  to  re 
cover  from  her  stupor.  To  her  face,  which 
had  been  blanched,  the  color  returned.  In 
her  eyes  came  a  gleam  as  from  a  reflection 
caught  from  without.  Her  lips  moved,  and 
she  glanced  from  accuser  to  accused.  And 
as  she  glanced,  dumb  and  ineffectual  of 
speech,  Mr.  Menemon  crossed  the  room. 

"  What  is  it  you  say  ?  "  he  asked. 

It  was  evident  at  once  that  of  the  scene — 
which  if  long  in  the  telling  had  in  reality  not 
outlasted  a  moment — he  had  stood  as  witness. 

"What  is  it  you  say?"  he  repeated. 

"  I  say  that  this  man  is  a  bigamist."  And 
as  Maule  spoke  he  tossed  his  head  as  though 
inviting  possible  contradiction.  "I  say,"  he 
continued,  "that  Mr.  John  Usselex  has  a  wife 
living  in  Paris." 

Mr.  Menemon    smoothed  the    back   of  his 


Eden.  i6j 

head  reflectively.  "Dear  me!"  he  said;  "that 
may  all  be.  I  daresay  there  are  hundreds  of 
John  Usselexes.  You  don't  expect  them  to 
remain  bachelors  because  one  of  their  name 
sake  gets  married,  do  you  ? "  And  with  that 
he  nodded  and  turned  with  a  smile  to  his 
daughter.  "  He  can't  expect  that,  Eden,  can 
he?" 

But  Eden's  eyes  were  fixed  on  Usselex, 
Her  attention  was  wholly  centered  in  him. 
Seemingly  her  father's  words  were  unheeded. 
And  the  old  gentleman  turned  again  to 
Maule. 

"  What  evidence  have  you  that  this  John 
Usselex  is  the  John  Usselex  of  whom  you 
speak?"  he  asked;  and  with  the  hand  with 
which  he  had  smoothed  the  back  of  his  head, 
he  now  began  to  caress  his  chin. 

But  before  Maule  could  answer,  Eden 
caught  her  father  by  the  arm.  "His  face!  ' 
she  whispered  quickly.  "  You  can  see  it  in 
his  face. '  She  pointed  to  him;  in  her  eyes  was 
conviction,  and  in  her  voice  no  tremor  of 
doubt.  "  Look  at  him,"  she  cried;  "it  is  he." 

Usselex  turned  to  her  in  a  manner  which  to 


164  Eden. 

those  present  was  uninterpretable,  then  his  eyes 
sought  Mr.  Menemon's,  and  finally  he  lowered 
them  to  the  ground.  His  attitude  was  tanta 
mount  to  admission,  and  as  such  Eden  con 
strued  it. 

"Thank  God!"  she  exclaimed.  "O  God!  I 
thank  you.  I  am  free."  She  still  clutched 
her  father's  arm,  and  Maule  made  a  movement 
toward  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  as  he  did  so,  "  yes,  Miss 
Menemon " 

But  before  he  could  reach  her,  Usselex 
barred  the  way.  "  By  what  right,  sir — "  he 
began,  very  firmly,  but  Eden  interrupted  him. 

"  I  told  you  once  that  I  thought  Miss 
Bolten  was  interested  in  him.  Let  me  tell 
you  now  he  is  in  love  with  me." 

"  Eden,  Eden —  '  her  father  murmured,  re 
provingly.  Into  Usselex'  face  came  an  ex 
pression  that  a  demon  might  have  envied. 
For  a  second  he  fronted  Maule,  his  hand 
clenched.  Then  the  fingers  loosened  again. 
The  demon  was  transformed  into  a  quiet,  self- 
possessed  man,  that  looked  like  a  monk,  a 
trifle  valetudinarian  at  that. 


Eden.  165 

"  Madam,"  he  said,  "  when  a  woman  speaks 
in  that  way  to  the  man  whose  name  she  bears, 
there  is  but  one  thing  for  him  to  do,  and  that 
is  to  withdraw."  He  bowed,  and  without 
further  comment  left  the  room. 

"  I  don't  bear  your  name,"  Eden  called 
after  him,  but  he  had  gone.  "  I  don't  bear 
your  name;  I  throw  it  to  the  mud  from  which 
it  sprang." 

"  And  you  are  right,  Miss  Menemon," 
Maule  echoed.  "You  are  right  to  do  so." 
And  again  he  moved  to  her. 

"  Don't  touch  me,"  the  girl  cried  ;  she  was 
trembling.  Evidently  the  excitement  had 
been  too  much  for  her.  "  Don't  touch  me," 
she  repeated;  and  drawing  from  him  as  from 
a  distasteful  thing,  she  added,  with  a  look  of 
scorn  that  an  insulted  princess  might  have  ex 
hibited:  "Though  you  have  not  a  lackey's 
livery,  you  have  a  lackey's  heart." 

"Eden,  I  beg  of  you — "  Mr.  Menemon 
began.  But  the  girl  had  turned  her  back,  and 
divining  the  uselessness  of  any  admonition, 
the  old  gentleman  addressed  himself  to 
Maule.  "  You  will  permit  me  to  say,  sir," 


l66  Eden. 

he  continued,  "  that  whatever  your  motive 
may  have  been,  and  whatever  evidence  you 
may  have,  your  announcement  might  have 
been  conveyed  a  trifle  less  unceremoniously. 
I  bid  you  good  afternoon." 

"But " 

"  I  bid  you  good  afternoon." 

Maule  twirled  his  moustache  for  a  second, 
and  then,  with  a  glance  at  Eden,  he  too  left 
the  room. 

Hardly  had  he  gone,  when  Eden  threw  her 
self  on  a  lounge.  In  her  ears  was  the  roar  of 
water  displaced.  The  flooring  turned  from 
red  to  black.  Then  all  was  still  ;  she  had 

fainted. 

XL 

As  EDEN,  through  thunderclaps,  and  zig 
zagged  flames  of  light,  groped  back  to  con 
sciousness  again,  it  was  with  the  intuition  that 
some  calamity  was  waiting  to  greet  her.  Into 
the  depths  of  her  being,  a  voice  which  refused 
to  be  hushed  had  been  whispering,  "  Come." 
And  Eden,  clinging  to  the  fringes  of  night, 
strove  to  still  the  call.  But  the  phantom  of 
things  that  were  persisted  and  overcame  her; 


Eden. 

it  loomed  abruptly,  with  arms  outstretched, 
forcing  her  against  her  will,  to  reason  with 
that  in  which  no  reason  was. 

For  the  moment  she  was  benumbed,  out- 
wearied  with  effort  and  enervated  by  the  strain 
and  depletion  of  force.  She  wished  herself 
unconscious  again,  and  looked  back  into  the 
absence  of  sentiency  from  which  she  had 
issued,  as  a  pilgrim  reentering  the  desert  may 
recall  the  groves  of  Mekka  and  the  silence  of 
the  Khabian  tomb.  It  had  been  less  a  swoon 
to  her  than  a  foretaste  of  peace,  the  antithe 
sis  of  life  compressed  into  a  second;  and  she 
longed  for  a  repetition  of  the  sudden  suffo 
cation  of  its  embrace.  But  memory  had 
got  its  baton  back,  and  the  incidents  of  the 
hour  trooped  before  her  gaze.  She  could  not 
be  free  of  them;  they  beat  at  her  heart,  filling 
her  thoughts  to  fulfillment  itself.  In  their 
onslaught  they  brought  her  new  strength,  the 
courage  that  comes  to  the  oppressed  ;  and 
rising  from  the  lounge  on  which  she  had 
fallen,  she  left  her  father  and  his  ministra 
tions,  and  redescended  into  the  past  with 
anger  for  aigrette  and  hatred  for  spur. 


I6S  Eden. 

It  was  the  room  that  she  had  occupied  dur 
ing  her  girlhood  to  which  she  then  went,  and 
in  the  presence  of  the  familiar  walls,  some 
thing  reminded  her  of  the  days  in  which  she 
had  believed  that  the  ignoble  bore  a  stigma 
on  their  brow,  that  infamy  of  thought  or  deed 
left  a  visible  sign.  She  recalled  the  old 
legends  with  which  her  childhood  had  been 
charmed,  the  combats  of  heroes  with  monsters, 
the  struggles  of  lords  with  lies.  In  those  days 
indeed,  evil  had  been  to  her  an  abstraction,  a 
figure  of  speech  beckoned  out  of  the  remotest 
past,  and  unencounterable  as  the  giant  bat 
that  darkened  the  nights  of  prehistoric  time. 
Then  had  come  a  nearer  acquaintance  with  it, 
the  shudders  that  chronicles  brought,  and  the 
intimations  of  the  fabliaux  ;  but  still  it  had 
been  distant,  a  belonging  of  the  past  incom 
petent  of  survival.  And  it  was  not  until 
within  recent  years  that  she  learned  that  it  had 
indeed  survived.  Even  then  the  tidings  that 
reached  her  had  as  much  consistency  to  her 
mind  as  the  news  of  cholera  in  Singapore. 
She  could  not  picture  that  Orient  port,  and  the 


Eden.  169 

cholera  she  was  sure  would  never  attack  her 
in  her  father's  house. 

And  now  suddenly  she  was  contaminated. 
She  felt  as  one  may  feel  who  had  been  lured 
into  a  lazar  of  lepers.  Turn  which  way 
she  might  she  could  never  wash  herself  clean. 
She  was  degraded  in  her  own  sight,  and 
tricked  by  those  whom  she  had  trusted  best. 
And  no  issue,  not  one.  The  dishonor  into 
which  she  had  been  trapped  was  a  thing  that 
clamored  for  redress,  and  to  that  clamoring  of 
her  heart  no  answer  was  vouchsafed.  "  O 
God,"  she  moaned,  "  is  justice  dead  ?  Where 
are  the  thunderbolts  you  used  to  wield  ? 
Have  you  wearied  of  vengeance  ?  have  you 
left  it,  Jehovah,  to  us  ?" 

Her  forehead  was  throbbing  as  it  had  never 
throbbed  before.  Above  it  each  individual 
hair  seemed  to  be  turning  red.  Her  sultry 
eyes  were  dilated;  she  was  quivering  from 
shoulder  to  heel.  And  as  in  her  restless 
anger  she  paced  the  room,  before  her  on  the 
wall  glowed  the  device  her  own  hands  had 
made — Keep  Yourself  Pure.  For  a  second 
she  stared  at  it,  the  color  mounting  and  re- 


Eden. 

treating  from  her  cheeks,  and  suddenly  she 
tore  it  down  and  trampled  it  under  foot. 

"Vengeance  is  there,"  she  cried;  and  without 
even  the  hesitation  of  a  hesitation  she  bent 
over  a  table,  and  finding  a  sheet  of  paper,  she 
scrawled  across  it — In  telling  you  of  M aide's 
love  for  me  I  omitted  to  tell  you  of  my  own  for 
Adrian.  This  she  addressed  and  then  rang 
the  bell. 

And  as  she  stood  waiting  for  a  servant  to 
come,  there  was  a  rap  on  the  door  and  her 
father  entered.  He  looked  at  her  for  an  in 
stant  and  rubbed  his  hands.  "  It  is  chilly 
here,  Eden,"  he  said;  "  had  you  not  better 
come  down-stairs  ? " 

"  Is  it  worth  while  ?  It  must  be  late. 
Where  is  Parker  ?  has  she  not  come  with  my 
things  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  it  is  almost  six  o'clock.     Parker — " 

"  Six  !  I  thought  it  was  midnight.  How 
long  have  I  been  here  ?  " 

"  Three  or  four  minutes  at  most.  I  had  a 
note  to  write.  So  soon  as  I  could  do  so  I 
followed  you  at  once.  You  are  quite  your 
self  again,  Eden,  are  you  not  ? " 


Eden.  171 

"I  can  understand,"  mused  Eden,"  that  there 
are.  years  that  count  double  when  there  are 
moments  that  prolong  themselves  as  have 
these."  "  Yes,"  she  answered,  aloud.  "  I  am 
better.  I  will  come  with  you." 

She  picked  up  the  message  she  had  written 
and  left  the  room.  In  the  hallway  was  the 
servant  for  whom  she  had  rung.  "  Take  this 
to  Fifth  Avenue,"  she  said.  "There  is  no 
answer,  but  see  that  it  is  delivered  in  per 
son." 

XII. 

"  IT  is  pleasanter  here,  is  it  not,  Eden  ? " 
Mr.  Menemon  asked,  when  they  reached  the 
sitting-room.  "  It  makes  one  think  of  old 
times,  doesn't  it  ?  Do  you  remember — " 
A.nd  Mr.  Menemon  rambled  on  with  some 
anecdote  of  days  long  past. 

Eden  gazed  at  him  wonderingly.  His 
words  passed  her  by  unheeded.  It  was  be 
wildering  to  her  that  he  could  accept  the 
tragedy  so  lightly,  and  as  he  spoke  she  kept 
repeating  to  herself  that  Virginius  was  part  of 
a  world  long  dead  and  derided.  Truly,  she 
could  not  understand.  He  seemed  conscious 


172  Eden. 

of  no  wrong  doing.  The  position  in  which 
she  was  placed  excited  him  so  little  that  he 
was  able  to  discourse  in  platitudes.  She  was 
not  wife  nor  maid  nor  widow,  and  for  the 
man  who  had  taken  her  from  her  home  and 
inflicted  on  her  a  wrong  that  merited  the 
penitentiary,  her  father  expressed  no  indigna 
tion,  no  sorrow  even.  He  did  not  even 
attempt  to  condole  with  her.  And  it  was  to 
him  she  had  turned.  Truly,  she  was  help 
less  indeed.  Yet  still  she  gazed  at  him,  ex 
pectant  of  some  sudden  outbreak,  some  storm 
of  anger  which,  though  it  parodied  her  own, 
would  at  least  be  in  unison  with  it.  Her  fin 
gers  were  restless  and  her  mouth  was  parched, 
a  handkerchief  which  she  held  she  twisted 
into  coils,  it  seemed  to  her  that  were  no  word 
of  sympathy  forthcoming  she  would  suffocate, 
as  the  traveler  in  the  desert  gasps  beneath  the 
oppression  of  fair  and  purple  skies. 

And  still  Mr.  Menemon  rambled  on.  "  I 
should  have  gone  to  his  funeral,"  he  said, 
"  had  you  not  come  in.  He  is  to  be  buried 
in  Washington  I  hear.  Well,  well!  he  was  a 
brave  man  and  a  staunch  friend.  Yes,  he  was 


Eden. 

all  of  that.  Really,  Eden,  I  ought  to  have 
gone.  I  suppose  they  will  escort  the  body  to 
the  station.  Did  you  hear  the  drums  when 
you  went  up-stairs  ?  It  makes  a  man  of  my 
age  feel  that  his  turn  may  be  next." 

Mr.  Menemon  crossed  the  room  and  looked 
out  of  the  window.  "  See,  Eden,"  he  con 
tinued;  "there  must  be  a  whole  regiment. 
Not  his  own,  though.  The  better  part  of  that 
went  down  at  Gettysburg.  You  remember, 
don't  you " 

With  this  Mr.  Menemon  turned  with  a  haste 
he  strove  to  conceal.  "  It's  almost  dinner 
time,"  he  added,  inconsequently.  "  I  will  just 
change  my  coat."  And  immediately  he  left 
the  room. 

For  a  moment  Eden  thought  she  heard  his 
voice  in  the  hall.  Then  all  was  still  again. 
She  was  wholly  alone.  She  envied  her  father's 
friend  who  lay  in  some  catafalque  across  the 
square.  And  presently  the  sense  of  desola 
tion  grew  so  acute  that  she  threw  herself 
prostrate  on  the  lounge,  and  clasping  a 
cushion  in  her  arms,  she  buried  her  face  in  its 
silk, 


Eden. 

From  the  square  beyond  came  a  muffled 
roll,  and  on  her  shoulder  the  touch  of  a  hand. 
It  was  her  father,  she  was  sure.  She  half 
turned,  her  cheeks  wet  with  tears.  "  What  is 
it  ?  "  she  sobbed.  "  Father " 

"It  is  I,  Eden."  And  through  a  rift  of 
understanding  there  filtered  the  sound  of 
Usselex's  voice.  With  the  flutter  of  a  bird 
surprised,  she  looked  up.  She  started,  and 
would  have  risen,  but  the  hand  weighed  her 
down.  She  tried  to  move,  and  raising  her 
arm  as  though  to  shield  her  eyes  from  some 
distasteful  sight,  suddenly  she  extended  it, 
and  motioned  him  back. 

"  Eden,"  he  began. 

"Don't  speak  to  me!"  she  cried;  ''and 
shaking  herself  from  his  hold,  she  stood  up 
and  dashed  the  tears  away.  "  Don't  speak  to 
me!"  she  repeated;  "and  if  anywhere  within 
the  purlieus  of  your  being  there  is  a  spark  of 
shame,  leave  me,  and  never " 

"  Eden,  you  are  unjust." 

"  Ah,  I  am  unjust,  am  I  not?  I  am  unjust, 
because  I  believed  in  you.  I  am  unjust,  be 
cause  I  discover  you  in  some  coarse  intrigue. 


Eden.  775 

I  am  unjust,  because  I  thought  myself  your 
wife.  I  am  unjust,  am  I  ?  Did  you  get  my 
note  ?  Is  it  for  that  that  you  are  here  ?  " 

"  Eden,  if  you  will  listen  a  moment -" 

"  I  have  listened  too  long.  Where  is  my 
father  ?  Why  is  it  you  pursue  me  here  ?  Are 
you  not  satisfied  with  your  work  ?  You  meet 
a  girl  who  only  wishes  to  trust,  and  before 
her  eyes  you  unroll  a  panorama  of  deceit. 
Oh  !  you  chose  her  well " 

"  It  cannot  be  that  you  believe  that  man, 
Eden " 

"  The  man  I  believed  was  you.  What  mat 
ters  the  testimony  of  others  when  I  find  my 
self  deceived " 

"  Eden,  you  have  deceived  yourself.  Last 
night  I  told  you  there  were  things  I  had  not 
wished  to  tell,  not  from  lack  of  confidence, 
but  because " 

"  Because  you  knew  that  did  I  hear  them  I 
would  go." 

"No,  not  that;  but  because  I  did  not  wish 
to  cause  you  pain." 

"  Yes,  protest.     My  father  said  you  would. 


ij6  Eden. 

But  the  protest  comes  too  late.  Besides,  I 
do  not  care  to  listen." 

And  thereat  she  made  a  movement  as 
though  to  leave  the  room.  But  this  Usselex 
prevented.  He  planted  himself  very  firmly 
before  her,  His  attitude  was  arrestive  as  an 
obelisk  and  uncircuitable  as  a  labyrinth.  At 
tention  was  his  to  command,  and  he  claimed 
it  with  a  gesture. 

"You  shall  not  go,"  he  said;  "you  shall 
hear  me." 

She  stepped  back  to  elude  him,  but  he 
caught  her  by  the  wrist. 

"  Look  at  me,"  he  continued.  "  It  took 
fifty  years  to  make  my  hair  gray;  one  day  has 
made  it  white." 

Eden  succeeded  in  disengaging  herself 
from  his  grasp,  and  she  succeeded  the  more 
easily  in  that  a  servant  unobserved  by  her, 
yet  seen  by  Usselex,  had  entered  the  room. 
He  loosed  his  hold  at  once  and  glanced  at  the 
man. 

"  What  is  it?"  he  asked.     "  No  one  rang." 

"A  letter,  sir,"  the  man  answered;  "it  was 
to  be  delivered  to  you." 


Eden-.  177 

IJsselex  took  the  note  and  held  it  unex- 
amined  in  his  hand.  Ederi  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  superscription.  The  writing  was  her 
own.  It  was,  she  knew,  the  note  which  she 
had  dispatched  a  half  hour  before,  Mean 
while  the  servant  had  withdrawn, 

"When  I  came  home  this  afternoon,"  Usse- 
lex  continued,  "  and  found  that  you  had  gone, 
I  could  not  understand " 

"  You  might  have  gone  to  the  Ranleigh  for 
information.  Let  me  pass  !  " 

"  Why  to  the  Ranleigh  ?  surely " 

"  To  Mrs.  Feverill,  then,  since  you  wish  me 
to  be  explicit.  Let  me  pass,  I  say." 

"  It  was  of  her  I  wished  to  tell  you  - 

"Was  it,  indeed?  You  were  considerate 
enough,  however,  not  to  do  so." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  now  ? " 

"  Rather  let  me  go.  I  prefer  your  reticence 
to  your  confidence." 

"  Eden  - 

"  No,  I  have  no  need  to  Jearn  more  of  your 
mistress " 

Usselex  stepped  aside.  "She  is  my  daugh 
ter,"  he  said,  sadly.  "  Go,  since  you  wish  to." 


Eden. 

— "  Nor  of  your  wife/  she  added,  as  he 
spoke. 

"  I  have  no  other  wife  than  you,"  he  an 
swered,  and  with  the  note  which  he  held  in 
his  hand  he  toyed  despondently.  As  yet  he 
had  not  so  much  as  glanced  at  the  address. 

Something,  a  light,  an  intonation,  and  in 
fluence  undiscerned  yet  sentiable,  stayed  her 
steps.  She  halted  in  passing  and  looked  him 
in  the  face.  And  he,  seeing  that  she  hesi 
tated,  repeated  with  an  accent  sincere  as  that 
which  is  heard  in  the  voice  of  the  moribund, 
"No  other  wife  than  you." 

"  You  say  that  Mrs.  Feverill  is  your  daugh 
ter?"  she  exclaimed.  It  may  be  that  the 
average  woman,  conscious  of  her  own  mo 
bility,  is  more  inattentive  of  the  past  than  of 
the  present.  But  however  that  may  be,  the 
assurance  which  Eden  had  just  received 
seemed  to  affect  her  less  than  the  preceding 
announcement.  "You  say  that  she  is  your 
daughter,"  she  repeated.  "Why,  you  told 
me —  You  said— 

"  I  have  told  you  nothing.  Will  you  sit  a 
moment  and  let  me  tell  you  now  ?  " 


Eden. 

Coerced  and  magnetized,  the  girl  moved 
back  and  sank  down  again  on  the  lounge. 
Usselex  still  toyed  absently  with  the  note, 
and  as  he  too  found  a  seat,  for  the  first  time 
she  recalled  its  contents.  Then  a  shudder 
beset  her. 

"I  ought  perhaps,"  he  began,  "to  have 
been  franker  in  this  matter.  But  my  excuse, 
if  it  be  one,  is  that  I  was  dissuaded  by  your 
father.  Before  I  ventured  to  ask  you  to 
marry  me,  I  told  my  story  to  him,  and  he 
counselled  silence.  What  I  say  to  you  now 
he  will  substantiate.  Shall  I  ring  and  ask 
hirn  to  come  here  ? " 

His  words  reached  her  from  inordinate  dis 
tances,  across  preceding  days,  and  out  of  and 
through  the  note  which  he  held  in  his  hand; 
and  with  them  came  the  acutest  pain.  "  He 
is  telling  the  truth,"  she  reflected,  "and  I  de 
serve  to  die." 

"Shall  I  ring?"  he  repeated. 

She  started  and  shook  her  head.  "  No, 
no,"  she  replied.  "Goon." 

"  I  thank  you,"  Usselex  returned.  "lean 
understand  that  enough  has  occurred  to  shake 


t#o  Eden. 

your  confidence.  In  the  circumstances,  it  is 
good  of  you  to  be  willing  to  receive  my  un 
supported  word.  But  bear  with  me  a  mo 
ment.  You  will  see,  I  think,  that  I  have  done 
no  wrong." 

As  he  spoke  she  had  but  one  thought,  to 
repossess  herself  of  the  note.  Could  she  but 
get  it  and  tear  it  and  set  it  aflame,  out  of  the 
cinders  life  might  re-arise. 

"  You  may  remember,"  he  continued,  "  what 
I  said  of  myself,  '  things  have  not  always  been 
pleasant  with  me.'  You  knew  as  a  child  what 
it  is  to  lose  a  mother,  but  think  what  it  must 
be  to  have  a  mother  and  have  that  mother 
ignore  your  existence.  Such  a  thing  is  hard, 
is  it  not  ?  But  of  her  I  will  not  speak  ;  she  is 
dead,  poor  woman  ;  I  hope  she  never  suffered 
as  have  I.  The  people  by  whom  I  was 
brought  up  I  looked  upon  as  my  parents. 
They  had  been  paid  to  adopt  me.  When  I 
discovered  that,  I  was  old  enough  to  make  my 
own  living.  With  that  view  I  came  to  this 
country.  New  York  was  different  then.  I 
should  not  care  to  land  here  now  and  attempt, 
to  make  a  fortune  without  a  penny  to  start 


Eden.  181 

with.  But  it  is  true,  I  was  young.  I  was  a 
fair*  linguist,  a  rarity  in  those  days,  and  it  was 
not  long  before  [  found  a  situation.  When  I 
had  a  little  money  put  by,  I  learned  of  an 
opening  in  Boston,  and  started  in  business 
there  for  myself.  Shortly  after  I  became 
acquainted  with  a  girl.  She  was  very  beauti 
ful  ;  more  so,  I  thought,  than  anyone  I  had 
ever  seen.  So  soon  as  I  was  in  a  position  to 
marry  she  became  my  wife.  We  lived  to 
gether  for  three  years.  During  that  time  I 
thought  her  affection  as  unwavering  as  my 
own.  She  was  an  excellent  musician,  and 
much  sought  after,  not  alone  because  of  her 
talent,  but  because  of  her  beauty  as  well. 
The  entertainments  which  she  frequented  I 
was  often  unable  to  attend.  But  I  was  glad 
to  have  her  go  without  me.  I  was  proud  of 
the  admiration  which  she  aroused.  One 
evening  she  left  me,  and  did  not  return.  For 
some  time  her  disappearance  was  unex 
plained.  Ultimately  I  discovered  that  she 
was  in  New  York.  She  had  deserted  me  for 
another  man.  I  followed  her  and  obtained  a 
divorce.  Afterwards  the  man  deserted  her  as 


1 82  Eden. 

she  had  deserted  me.  Then  she  went  abroad. 
Of  her  life  there  I  can  only  judge  by  hea*say. 
I  believe  that  at  one  time  she  figured  in  an 
opera  troupe.  Now  and  then  she  wrote,  ask 
ing  for  money;  but  latterly  she  has  ceased.  It 
is  a  surprise  to  me  that  she  calls  herself  by 
my  name.  Perhaps  she  has  done  so  because 
she  heard  that  I  had  prospered.  The  reflec 
tion  of  that  prosperity  may  have  been  of  ad 
vantage  to  her.  That,  however,  can  easily  be 
stopped.  But  I  am  sorry,  Eden,  that  you 
should  have  learned  of  it.  Even  the  children 
do  not  know  ;  they  think  her  dead.  When 
she  deserted  me,  I  left  them  with  their  grand 
parents.  In  so  doing  I  sought  to  separate 
myself  from  everything  connected  with  her, 
and  I  stipulated  that  I  would  provide  for 
their  maintenance  on  condition  that  they  were 
kept  in  ignorance  of  their  mother's  existence 
and  of  mine.  Some  years  ago,  however,  first 
the  grandfather,  then  the  grandmother,  died. 
I  was  obliged  to  appear  more  prominently. 
My  daughter  had  married;  I  took  her  husband 
into  my  employ.  It  was  of  him  I  spoke  the 
other  day." 


Eden.  183 

He  hesitated  and  paused,  his  eyes  fixed  in 
hers.  The  phrases  had  come  from  him  halt 
ingly,  one  by  one,  but  each  he  had  dowered 
with  an  accent  that  carried  conviction  with  it 
With  the  note  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  he 
still  toyed  abstractedly. 

"You  understand  now,  do  you  not?"  he 
asked.  "  You  understand  and  forgive  ?  " 

And  Eden,  as  one  who  has  weathered  a 
storm  and  sees  shipwreck  imminent  in  port 
bowed  her  head.  "  It  is  truth,"  she  told  her-, 
self.  "  If  he  reads  that  note,  he  will  kill  me." 

"  You  understand  now,  do  you  not  ? "  he 
repeated.  His  voice  was  sonorous  and  caress 
ing  as  an  anthem,  and  he  bent  nearer  that  he 
might  see  her  face. 

"  Too  late!  "  she  answered. 

"  No,  Eden,  not  that.  Look  at  me.  You 
must  not  hide  your  eyes.  In  all  the  world 
there  are  none  as  fair  as  they.  Look  at  me, 
Eden.  Tell  me  that  you  forgive.  I  have 
pained  you,  I  know;  I  have  been  stupid;  but 
the  pain  has  been  unwitting  and  the  stupidity 
born  of  love.  Look  at  me,  Eden.  See,"  he 
continued,  and  bent  at  her  side,  "  See,  I  ask 


i  $4  Eden. 

forgiveness  on  my  knees.  Can  you  not  give 
it  me  ? " 

"To  you,  yes,  but  never  to  myself."  She 
spoke  hoarsely,  in  a  voice  unlike  her  own;  her 
eyes  were  not  in  his,  they  were  staring  at 
something  in  his  hand,  and  as  she  stared,  she 
seemed  to  shrink.  The  muscles  of  her  face 
were  rigid.  And  Usselex,  perplexed  at  the 
fixidity  of  her  gaze,  followed  the  direction 
which  her  eyes  had  taken  and  saw  that  they 
rested  on  the  note  which  he  still  held, 
crumpled  and  forgotten.  For  a  second  he 
looked  at  it  wonderingly,  "  Why,  it  is  from 
you,"  he  exclaimed, 

In  that  second,  Eden,  with  the  prescience 
that  is  said  to  visit  those  that  drown,  went 
forward  and  back,  into  the  past  and  into  the 
future  as  well.  Amid  her  scattered  yester 
days  she  groped  for  a  promise.  Of  the  un- 
answering  morrows  she  called  for  release,  and 
as  her  husband  stood  up,  preparing  to  read 
what  she  had  written,  she  felt  herself  the  de 
pository  of  shame. 

The  next  instant  she  was  at  his  side. 
"  Give  it  me,"  she  murmured.  Her  voice 


Eden.  185 

trembled  a  little,  but  she  strove  to  render  it 
assured.  "  Give  it  me,"  she  pleaded. 

Ussslex  turned  to  her  at  once.  "  Certainly, 
if  you  wish  it,"  he  said.  "What  is  it  about  ?  " 

He  held  the  note  to  her,  and  she,  with  an 
affected  air  of  indifference,  took  it  from  him 
and  tossed  it  into  the  grate. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered,  and  then,  as 
though  ashamed  of  the  falsehood,  she  looked 
him  bravely  in  the  face.  "  It  was  about  your 
clerk." 

"  Adrian  ? "  he  asked.  And  as  she  nodded, 
tremulous  still  and  unprepared  for  further 
questions,  he  added,  "I  hope  you  like  him." 

"  You  hope  I  like  him  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  is  my  son." 

Eden's  hands  went  to  her  throat  and  her 
eyes  to  the  grate.  The  note  was  already  in  a 
blaze. 

"  Yes,"  Usselex  continued,  "  I  have  a  bit  of 
news  for  you.  He  is  engaged  to  Miss  Bolton. 
For  a  long  time  her  parents  objected,  but  last 
night  they  consented.  It  may  be  because  he 
was  at  the  opera  with  you.  How  small  people 
can  be !"  he  added.  "  She  is  a  nice  girl, 


1 86  Eden. 

though.  Adrian  told  me  this  morning  that 
he  tried  to  speak  to  you  about  her  the  night 
I  dined  with  Governor  Blanchford,  but  that 
you  did  not  seem  interested." 

"God  in  Heaven!  '"gasped  Eden,  beneath 
her  breath.  "  If  these  are  your  punishments, 
what  then  are  your  rewards  ?  " 

Usselex  had  led  her  to  a  seat  and  taken  her 
unresisting  hand  in  his.  For  some  little  time 
he  talked  to  her,  very  gently,  as  it  behooves 
the  strong  to  address  the  weak.  And  as  he 
spoke,  Mr.  Menemon  entered,  and  seeing 
them  hand-locked  and  side-by-side,  he  smiled 
cheerily  to  himself  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
learns  that  all  is  well 

Usselex  stood  up  at  once,  but  for  a  little 
space  Eden  sat  very  still,  surprised  as 
February  at  a  violet,  then  rising,  she  went 
forward  to  the  window  and  looked  out  at  the 
night.  From  the  square  beyond  came  the 
beat  of  drums,  and  on  the  breeze  was  borne 
to  her  the  shrill  treble  of  retreating  fifes.  And 
as  she  loitered  at  the  window,  conscious  only 
of  a  sense  of  happiness  such  as  she  had  never 
known  before,  her  father  called  to  her.  She 


Eden. 

turned  at  his  bidding.  In  the  opposite  door 
way  a  servant  stood. 

"  Dinner  is  served,"  he  said. 

And  presently  Mr.  Menemon,  as  was  his 
custom,  mumbled  a  grace  and  thanksgiving  to 
God. 


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6 


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10 


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WORKS  OF  ADVENTURE. 

Adventures  Among  The  Indians.     By  W.  H.  Kingston. 
Beauckampe.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Border  Beagles.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Oast  Up  By  The  Sea.     By  Sir  Samuel  Baker. 
Charlemont .     By  W .  Gilmore  Simms . 
Confession.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Deep  Down.     By  R.  M.  Ballantyne. 
Deerslayer  (The)    By  Feniinore  Cooper. 
Don  Quixote.    By  Miguel  Cervantes. 
Erling,  The  Bold.     ByR.  M.  Ballantyne. 
Eutaw .     By  W .  Gilmore  Simms . 
Fire  Brigade,  The.     By  R.  M.  Ballantyne. 
Forayers  (The) .     By  W .  Gilmore  Simms . 
Giant  Raft  (The) .     By  Jules  Verne . 
Guy  Rivers.    By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Hunting  In  The  Great  West.     By  G.  O.  Shields. 
Katharine  Walton.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Last  of  The  Mohicans  (The) .     By  Fenimore  Cooper . 
Mellichampe.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Mysterious  Island ,  (The . )    By  Jules  Verne . 
Partisan  (The).     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Pathfinder  (The . )    By  Fenimore  Cooper . 

Perilous  Adventures,  By  Land  and  Sea.    By  John  Frost,  LL.D 
Rifle  and  Hound  In  Ceylon.    By  Sir  Samuel  Baker. 
Richard  Hurdis.     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Robinson  Crusoe.     By  Daniel  Defoe. 
Scout  (The).     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Secret  Dispatch  (The).     By  James  Grant. 
Southward  Hoi    By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Spy  (The) .    By  Fenimore  Cooiper . 
ttviss  Family  Kobinson .    By  Wyss  &  Moutolieu. 


Thrilling  Scenes  Among  The  Indians.     By  T.  M.  Newson. 
Tour  of  The  World  In  Eighty  Days.    Bv  Jules  Verne. 
Twenty  Thousand  Leagues  Under  The  Sea.     By  Jules  Verne. 


Vasconselos.    By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Woodcraft.    By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Wigwam  and  Cabin  (The).     By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 
Young  Foresters  (The).     By  W.  H.  Kingston. 
Xemassee.    By  W.  Gilmore  Simms. 

11 


DETECTIVE  STORIES. 

File  113.     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 
Gilded  Clique  (The).     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 
In  Peril  Of  His  Life.    By  Emile  Gaboriau . 
Lerouge  Case  (The) .     By  Emile  Gaboriau . 
Monsier  Lecoq.     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 
Mystery  of  Orcival.     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 
Other  People's  Money.     By  Emile  Gaboriau. 

ESSAYS  AND  BELLES  LETTRES. 

Alhambra.    By  Washington  Irving. 

Astoria.     By  Washington  Irving . 

Crown  of  Wild  Olive  and  Queen  of  The  Air.     By  John  Ruskin. 

Ethics  of  The  Dust  and  A  Joy  Forever .     By  John  Ruskin . 

Heroes  and  Hero  Worship.     By  Thomas  Carlyle. 

Sartor  Resartus.     By  Thomas  Carlyle. 

Sesame  and  Lilies  and  Unto  This  Last .     By  John  Ruskiu . 

Sketch  Book .     By  Washington  Irving . 

ETIQUETTE,  ETC. 

Complete  Letter  Writer.     By  Thomas  W.  Handford, 
Ladies'  Etiquette. 

Ladies'  Family  Physician.     By  Pye  Henry  Chavasse. 
Needles  and  Brushes,  Embroidery  and  Fancy  Work . 
Stoddard's Readings  and  Recitations.     ByR.  H.  and  Elizabeth 
Stoddard. 

FABLES  AND  FAIRY  TALES. 

./Esop's  Fables,  100  Illustrations . 

Andersen's  Fairy  Tales.     By  Hans  Christian  Andersen. 
Arabian  Nights  (The) 

Grimm's  Popular  Tales.     By  The  Brothers  Grimm. 
Gulliver's  Travels  and  Baron  Munchausen .  By  Dean  Swift  and 
R.  E.  Raspe. 

FICTION. 

Adam  Bede.     By  Geo.  Eliot. 
Admiral's  Ward .     By  Mrs.  Alexander. 
Airy  Fairy  Lilian .     By  ' '  The  Duchess . " 
All  In  A  Garden  Fair.     By  Besant  &  Rice. 
Arundel  Motto  (The).     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. 
Beauty's  Daughters.     By  "  The  Duchess." 
Belinda.     By  Rhoda  Broughton. 
Beyond  Pardon.     By  Bertha  M.  Clay. 
Broken  Wedding  Ring  (A) .     By  Bertha  M .  Clay . 
Called  Back  and  Dark  Days.     By  Hugh  Con  way. 
Cardinal  Sin  (A) .     By  Hugh  Conway . 
Children  of  The  Abbey .     By  Maria  Roche . 
Daughter  of  Heth  (A).     By  Wm.  Black. 
Doris .     By  '  *  The  Duchess . " 
Dora  Thorne .     By  Bertha  M .  Clay . 
Dick's  Sweetheart.     By  "The  Duchess." 
Dunallan .     By  Grace  Kennedy . 
Earl's  Atonement  (The) .    By  Bertha  M.  Clay . 

12 


EastLynne.     By  Mrs.  Henry  Wood. 

Eugene  Aram .     By  Bulwer  Ly tton . 

Endymion .     By  Benjamin  Disraeli . 

Faith  and  Unf  aith .     By  « '  The  Duchess . " 

Felix  Holt .     By  Geo .  Eliot . 

For  Lilias .     By  Rosa  N .  Carey . 

Green  Pastures  and  Picadilly.     By  Win.  Black. 

Great  Expectations.     By  Chas.  Dickens. 

Heart  and  Science.     By  Wilkie  Collins. 

Henry  Esmond .     By  Wm .  M.  Thackeray . 

Her  Desperate  Victory.     By  Mrs.  M.  L.  Rayne. 

Her  Mother's  Sin .     By  Bertha  M.  C lay . 

lone  Stewart.     By  Miss  E.  Linn  Linton. 

Ishmaelite  (An) .     By  Miss  M .  E .  B  raddon . 

Jane  Eyre.     By  Charlotte  Bronte. 

John  Halifax,  Gentleman .     By  Miss  Mulock . 

Kenelm  Chillingly.     By  Bulwer  Lytton. 

King  Arthur.     By  Miss  Mulock . 

King  Solomon's  Mines.     By  H.  Rider  Haggard. 

Ladies  Lindores.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant. 

Lady  Audley's  Secret.     By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon 

Lady  Branksmere .     By  "  The  Duchess . " 

Love  Works  Wonders.     By  Bertha  M.  Clay. 

Macleod  of  Dare .     By  Wm .  Black . 

Madcap  Violet.     By  Wm.  Black. 

Maid  of  Athens.     By  Justin  McCarthy. 

Margaret  and  Her  Bridesmaids.     By  Julia  Stretton, 

Mental  Struggle,  (A) .     By  "  The  Duchess . " 

Mill  On  The  Floss.     By  Gco.  Eliot. 

Molly  Bawn.     By  " The  Duchess." 

Mrs .  Geoffrey .     fey  '  <  The  Duchess . " 

New  Magdalen  (The).  *By  Wilkie  Collins. 

Old  Myddelton's  Money.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. 

Oliver  Twist .     By  Charles  Dickens . 

Our  Mutual  Friend.     By  Charles  Dickens. 

Parisians  (The).     By  Bulwer  Lytton. 

Paul  and  Virginia,  Rasselas  and  Vicar  of  Wakefleld .     By  St 

Pierre,  Johnson  &  Goldsmith. 
Phantom  Fortune.    By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. 
Phyllis.     By  "The  Duchess." 

Portia;  or,  By  Passions  Rocked .     By  ' '  The  Duchess . " 
Princess  of  Thule  (A).     By  Wm.  Black. 
Repented  at  Leisure.     ByJ3ertha  M.  Clay. 
Romola .     By  Geo .  Eliot . 
Rossmoyne.     By  "  The  Duchess.'* 
Shandon  Bells.    By  Wm.  Black. 
She .     By  H .  Rider  Haggard . 
Strange  Story  (A) .     By  Bulwer  Lytton . 
Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phaeton.     By  Wm.  Black. 
Sunrise.     By  Wm.  Black. 
Sunshine  and  Roses.    By  Bertha  M.  Clay. 
Tale  of  Two  Cities  (A) .     By  Charles  Dickens . 
That  Beautiful  Wretch .     By  Wm.  Black . 
Three  Feathers .     By  Wm .  Black . 
To  The  Bitter  End.    By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. 
Tom  Brown's  School  Days.    By  Thomas  Hughes. 
Tom  Brown  At  Oxford .    By  Thomas  Hughea. 

13 


Two  On  A  Tower .     By  Thos .  Hardy . 

Under  Two  Flags .     By  Ouida . 

Vanity  Fair.     By  Wm.  Thackeray. 

Wanda.     By  Ouida. 

Wilfred  Cumbermede .     By  Geo .  Macdonald . 

Woman's  Temptation  ( A) .     By  Bertha  M .  Clay . 

Wooing O't.     By  Mrs.  Alexander. 

Yolande.     By  Wm.  Black. 

Zanoni .     By  Bulwer  Ly tton . 

HISTORICAL  ROMANCES. 

Bride  of  Lammermoor.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Guy  Mannering.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Heart  of  Midlothian.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Ivanhoe .     By  Sir  Walter  Scott . 
Kenilworth.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Last  Days  of  Pompeii.     By  Bulwer  Lytton. 
Redgauntlet.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Rienzi .     By  Bulwer  Lytton . 
Rob  Roy .     By  Sir  Walter  Scott . 
Scottish  Chiefs .     By  Jane  Porter . 
Thaddeus  of  Warsaw.     By  Jane  Porter. 
Waverley.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott. 
Willy  Reilly.    By  Wm.  Carleton. 

HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY. 

Dickens' Child's  History  of  England 

Washington  and  Marion  (Life  of) . 

Webster  (Life  of).     By  Samuel  Smucker,  LL.D. 

HUMOROUS  FICTION. 

Charles  O'Malley .     By  Charles  Lever . 
Handy  Andy.     By  Samuel  Lover. 
Harry  Lorrequer.     By  Charles  Lever. 
Rory  O'More.     Samuel  Lover. 

RELIGIOUS  AND  DEVOTIONAL. 

From  Year  to  Year.     By  Alice  Carey. 
Imitation  of  Christ.     By  Thos.  a  Kcmpis: 
Is  Life  Worth  Living.     By  W.  H.  Mallock. 
Pilgrim's  Progress  (The) .     By  John  Bunyan . 

SEA  TALES. 

Cruise  of  The  Black  Prince  (The).     By  Commander  Cameron 
Five  Years  Before  The  Mast .     By  W .  B .  Hazen . 
Jack  In  The  Forecastle.     By  Hawser  Martingale. 
Mark  Seaworth .     By  W.  H .  Kingston . 
Midshipman  (The).     By  W.  H.  Kingston. 
Peter  The  Whaler .     By  Sir  Samuel  Baker . 
Pilot  (The).     By  Fenimore  Cooper. 
Pirate  (The).     By  Sir  AValter  Scott. 
Red  Eric  (The) .     By  R .  M .  Ballantyne . 
Round  The  World.     By  W .  H .  Kingston . 
Salt  Water.    By  Sir  Samuel  Baker. 

14 


Sea  Queen  (A).  By  W.  Clark  Russell. 
Tom  Cringle's  Log.  By  Michael  Scott. 
Two  Years  Before  The  Mast.  By  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr. 

SHORT  STORIES. 

Dickens'  Christmas  Stories . 

Dickens'  Shorter  Stories. 

Dickens'  Story  Teller. 

Ethan  Brand .     By  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  and  others . 

Fern  Leaves.     By  Fanny  Fern. 

Half  Hours  With  Great  Authors. 

Half  Hours  With  Great  Humorists. 

Half  Hours  With  Great  Novelists. 

Half  Hours  With  Great  Story  Tellers. 

Poe's  Tales .     By  Edgar  Allan  Poe . 

Shadows  and  Sunbeams.     By  Fanny  Fern. 

True  Stories  From  History.     By  Hugh  DeNormand. 

TRAVEL. 

Eight  Years'  Wanderings  In  Ceylon .     By  Sir  Samuel  Baker . 
Hyperion.     By  H.  W.  Longfellow. 
Outre  Mer.     By  H.  W.  Longfellow. 

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The  Political  Oratory  of  Emery  A.  Storrs. 
From  Lincoln  to  Garfield. 

By  Isaac  E.  Adams.    12mo,  cloth 1  W 

Paper  covers 

The  Protective  Tariff. 

What  it  Does  for  Us!    By  GenM  Hermann  Lieb.    12mo,  cloth ....    1  Ofl 


elford'5 


Edited  by  DONN  PIATT 


A  Magazine  devoted  to  Politics,  Poetry,  General 
Literature,  Science  and  Art. 

Belf ore!  s  Magazine  advocates  the  extinguishment  of  the  sur 
plus  by  a  reduction  of  the  present  iniquitous  and  burdensome 
Tariff  in  the  direction  of  Free-Trade  or  of  a  tariff  for  revenue 
purposes  only  ;  such  reform  to  be  effected  in  the  interests  of  the 
farmers,  the  workingmen  and  the  great  mass  of  the  population,  as 
opposed  to  the  manipulators  of  rings  and  trusts  and  other  monop 
olists  whom  the  present  tariff  enables  to  accumulate  vast  fortunes 
at  the  expense  of  the  community. 

The  department  of  Fiction  is  exceptionally  full.  Instead  of  a 
serial  story  dragging  its  slow  length  through  several  months,  and 
exhausting  the  patience  of  the  reader,  a  complete  novel  is 
published,  and  each  issue  also  contains  one  or  more  stories.  In  all 
the  departments  the  very  best  talent  has  been  enlisted. 


SOME  OF  THE  CONTRIBUTORS: 

David  A.  Welles,  General  H.  V.  Boynton, 

Hon.  Frank  H.  Hurd,  Sarah  B.  M.  Piatt, 

Prof.  W.  G.  Sumner,  Edgar  Fawcett, 
J.  S.  Moore  (Parsee  Merchant),      Joel  Benton. 

Hon.  John  G.  Carlisle,  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox, 

Henry  Watterson,  Rev.  Geo.  C.  Larimer, 

Henry  George,  E.  Heron-Allen, 

Julian  Hawthorne,  Coates-Kinney, 

General  Hermann  Lieb,  James  Whitcomb  Riley, 

Edgar  Saltus,  Soule  Smith  ("  Falcon  "), 

John  James  Piatt,  Gertrude  Garrison,  Etc. 
Thos.  G.  Shearman, 

Price,  25c.  per  number,  $2.50  per  year.    Each  number  com 
plete  in  itself.    Subscriptions  can  be  sent  to  any  one  of  our  offices. 

BELFORD,  CLARKE  &  CO.,  Publishers, 

CHICAGO:  NEW  YORK:  SAN  FRANCISCO: 

257  &  259  State  St,  384  &  386  Broadway,  834  Market  Street, 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROW 
LOAN  DEPT. 


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This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


IN  STACKS 


MAY    61959 


EC  1 


DEC  2  7  1967 


JA&*0 


STACKS 


-e 


( 


- 


RECEIVED 


.mu  10 '68 -B" 


LOAN 


LD  21A-50m-9,'58 
(6889slO)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  Californi 

Berkeley 


M500115 


ecf 


